Going, Going, Gone
by The Scratch Man
Summary: "He's sitting beside Santo, who's roaring at the television screen and so naturally, Julian's also squished against the couch armrest. He blinks and says softly, "I have to go.""/ AKA: Julian Keller leaves the X-Men, but a mysterious string of murders of mutants draws him back into the good fight. This time, he's on his own. Set after X-Men: Schism.
1. Chapter 1

Julian's not sure when his life became such a mess. He's nineteen, for the fuck's sake. But he supposes it began when he fifteen. The moment he first set eyes on Xavier's Institute and thought maybe –just maybe, this would work out.

Yeah. It started around then. M-Day was definitely a factor in the amount of utter shit he would have to endure in the next three years, but … there was something about the school. Yeah.

He can remember when he first started class and how he acted up and how he secretly loved Xavier's, Economics classes and all. It was home.

And then M-Day. And the Puritans. The bus. And that shit over little Miss Perfect. The savior. Hope. And him getting impaled on Deathstrike's claws.

And then Utopia.

And the accident. It wasn't an accident, of course. Just Bastion.

He supposes that he thought going back, going to school would make things okay again, somehow. Like it would comfort him to be in a school again. That was shit.

It isn't the same, of course not. Not even close.

The new students are so… he can't bear it. No. They hadn't seen… They didn't know… Do they have nightmares? Do any of them ever wake up in the middle of the night, drench in a cold sweat? Do they reach up to brush their hair out of their eyes or move to bite their knuckles in order to stifle a _scream_ and forget –hell, do any of them forget to _pick up their hands_?

No.

And Julian hates it. Yeah, he knows most of the X-Men either have it the same or worse or… whatever.

* * *

"Feelin' sorry for yourself again?"

Julian snarls and makes an angry sound that says 'fuck off' plain as day.

Quentin cackles and then coos, "Aw, poor Hellion. Cries when he's all by himself, doesn't he? No friends around to pretend for, eh, Keller?"

Julian pins the telepath with a look he hopes properly expresses his disbelief that Quentin is actually still in his space.

"You're not the only one with problems," Quentin rolls his eyes and cards a hand through his offensively pink hair. "God, you 'New X-Men' are _so _angst-ridden." He wrinkles his nose, "Your minds _stink_ of angst."

"Then keep your nose out of my head." Julian snaps, standing from where he'd been seated under one of the large trees in the back courtyard. He brushes grass off his pants, "What do you want? Come out here just to bitch at me?"

Quentin inspects his black-painted fingernails and leans against the tree trunk. "You're wanted in the hangar." He says. "I was calling you, but clearly you're missing some vital brain cells. So I had to come out here myself."

Julian scowls, but makes haste to the Blackbird. Thank God Quentin is still banned from missions. His face and stupid nasally voice aren't missed.

* * *

When they return to the mansion that evening and Julian flops into bed, covered in bruises and mostly-treated cuts, he takes a moment to reflect on his life to the sound of Santo's snores.

Julian Keller: Estranged son. Girlfriend-less (he tends not to let his thoughts dwell on Laura. They're… complicated). Hand-less. Mostly penniless (he has an account, like most disinherited or orphaned students in the X-Men). Homeless? No, no. He lives at Jean Grey Institute.

…So?

Julian squeezes his eyes shut and wills sleep to come.

* * *

It's watching (rather, not watching, but sitting in front of) the TV the next afternoon, sore from the previous day's mission that realization strikes.

He's sitting beside Santo, who's roaring at the television screen and so naturally, Julian's also squished against the couch armrest. He blinks and says softly, "I have to go."

"Huh?" Victor says on Santo's other side.

Megan peers over from where she's sitting on the loveseat.

"Nothing." Julian stands up. "Later."

"Where you going?" Santo protests.

He raises his eyebrows. "What, can't even go to bed without letting you all know?" he snorts.

"No, we just…" Megan starts.

He waves her words away. "I'm tired. So. Later." He does a peace-out gesture and gets the hell out of the room.

* * *

The sunset shoots a ray of light into the unlit room like one of Hawkeye's arrows. Julian sits down on his bedspread, takes deep breath, and looks around.

There's an empty duffel under his bed.

* * *

He leaves a note (Concise. No drama. No emotional blab.) on his pillow and slips out of the room to step into the hall. It's dark, but the stairway at the end is lit.

There are bamfs asleep, hanging upside down, on the banister as he descends, and he's sure to not wake them. He expects there to be someone to stop him, expects an X-Man to step out of the shadows and give him a speech to change his mind. He might've expected Logan or Xavier (if he weren't, you know, dead for good, and if Logan weren't, you know, on a mission as usual).

There's no one, not even Kitty, the newly appointed Headmistress. And Julian steps outside to a quiet night. He zips up his jacket, adjusts the strap of his bag, and takes off into the sky. The mansion disappears as he picks up speed.

* * *

He expects a call. Or a text.

His cell phone is fully charged. He has his X-Pager (the GPS chip has been thrown out, though he knows he could be found in other ways).

But the first day is silent. They've definitely seen the note. He wonders if they think he'll be back.

No way. Julian's not just on one of those journeys of self-discovery that Rogue and Logan seem so fond of. He's out. For good. He's _free_, dammit.

His feet take him west, and he wonders if it's because he's thinking about Utopia or –no, he's not going there. No way. He purposefully takes a turn south away from California, the place he's most definitely _not_ going… yet ends up in, anyway.

Julian takes comfort in that at least he's quite a distance from San Francisco.

* * *

He's got a job waiting tables at some classless diner, has had one for several months now. The people who hired him don't care that he's a mutant, and the customer's don't care either –that or they don't notice; he wears long sleeves and keeps his hand tucked into the sleeves and looking like actual, _attached _prosthetics.

Point is, he's got a routine. Something normal. He hasn't gotten into any fights or broken any bones since his last mission as an X-Men. It's great.

When trouble comes, he almost doesn't notice.

* * *

Julian doesn't usually take the morning shift, but Mandy's out, and more work equals more money, equals …well, he doesn't have a plan beyond 'more money'.

But there he is, seven A.M, working tables for the early crowd. Between jobs, he's wiping down the counter. The radio's playing behind him and Carl's organizing the register.

"Isn't it bad, man?"

"What's bad?" Julian glances over.

Carl nods his head at the radio. "The kidnappings?"

Julian's got to admit he's out of the loop on that one. "What happened?"

"It's been going for a while," Carl says, carding a hand through his blond Surfer Dude locks and looking appropriately sympathetic, "A bunch of these muties –ya know, a bunch of them's been manifestin' or some shit lately? Well one of those radical extremist groups or just plain hate groups've been kidnapping all these teens. Bodies've been showin' up couple days later, all mutilated and shit. It's bad. This local girl was found yesterday night." he nods at the radio again, "S'what they were just talking about. Cops don't know who to go after."

Julian's always been strongly opined about these type of situations. "What? No X-Men or anyone's coming to investigate?"

"Nah, man. Doesn't look like it. Seems like they're pretty caught up with something intergalactic right now. Remember those alien parasites on the news last week?" Carl shudders.

Julian figures he needs to keep up with the times more. He turns back to the counter, but suddenly can't bring himself to just keep on cleaning. His stomach is in knots, his blood pounding through his veins and his face probably contorted in anger.

"Hey, can I get some more coffee?" someone calls across the room.

Julian grabs for the coffee pot and heads off. It's not until he gets to the table and is pouring the man coffee that he realizes what the weird looks people are throwing him mean. His hand is very clearly floating several inches away from him.

"That's a mighty strange prosthetic, son," the customer tells him.

Julian forces a smile and says something about new mechanics based off of alien tech and quickly retreats to the diner's backroom to escape everyone's stares.

Shit.

* * *

It takes all of two weeks for Julian to cave. His resistance to investigating the kidnappings was largely attributed to the lack of further news on the unknown kidnappers. He forced himself to get on with this his life. He left the diner, began again somewhere new.

This time around, it's harder. He wakes up and he doesn't feel the old content of being alone. Something inside of him itches, gnaws at him to take action. So when the news of a young girl's abduction under similar circumstances as previous cases in a town a couple miles away, Julian's sadly unsurprised to find himself taking up a routine of patrol in the nights.

He moves north and temporarily settles in a motel room.

Then, Julian goes out.

He doesn't wear dark clothes or a cape like he can recall Santo and Victor doing during a ridiculous vigilante escapade in San Francisco; he's smarter than that. He wears non-descript sweats and a dark sweater, which he keeps his gauntlets in the pockets of to keep anyone from giving him a second glance.

Julian finds nothing, though one night he does stop a mugging (and is promptly punched by the frantic, confused would-be victim). When the body shows up, Julian continues to stare at the television even after the broadcast is over. There's a sinking feeling in his chest.

And in part, it's because he knows that when the next person goes missing, it'll be from San Francisco, the mutant capital of the nation.

So he packs up, counts how much money he has left, and hitch-hikes north.

* * *

If there's one thing Julian learned from the X-Men, it's that if you can't find the target, you have to become the target. He figures it can't be too hard, as a mutant, to bait a group of mutant-haters into coming after him.

That's where Julian is wrong.

The thing about trying to be a mutant to be targeted in San Francisco is that twenty-seven percent of the world's mutant population lives in San Francisco.

Mutants may be manifesting again, but the numbers are still relatively low in comparison to the millions of mutants existing before M-Day.

Julian tries to be as outrageously _mutant_ as possible, going to popular mutant clubs, using his powers in public –shit, he's starting to feel like Quentin Quire. Still, nobody comes after Julian; at most, some people mutter under their breaths or give him dirty looks. Tourists snap photos.

A body is found, two weeks after Julian arrives in the city. It's a boy, just fifteen years old. He's found in an alley with his tongue, wings and antennae cut off and his eye gauged out.

Julian runs to the nearest restroom and retches up all of his breakfast.

* * *

Life goes on, but Julian doesn't.

He knows he's getting obsessive, and he doesn't care. He calls X-Factor Investigations a couple of time, just to leave Maddrox's crew an anonymous tip-off, but nothing comes of it.

It makes Julian angry. It makes him furious.

Where the _fuck_ are the X-Men now, when mutants are getting kidnapped and murdered on the streets?

Julian doesn't remember the Good Guys not caring so much, and he begins to wonder what else has been overlooked in the past years, what other crimes have been ignored in favor of running off to fight in space or against the same old foes who always lose.

When the dead boy is found, Julian figures it's time to get really committed to taking down the bastards who're killing the mutants –and that means getting into shady business.

Which also requires a lot of money.

Which Julian doesn't have.

So he has to push aside his impatience and get some money his pockets first, which means getting another job because he's _not_ going to rob a bank, no way.

Besides, another thing about being a mutant in San Francisco is that if you go to the right place, you can get a job in a snap, because some people thirst for special mutant friends like they drool after sassy, gay BFFs.

And that is how, thirty hours of training later, Julian finds himself working a shift at a Starbucks on the corner of what's locally known as Mutant District. Julian mans the register and takes orders and the only benefit of the job is being able to listen in on snippets of conversation. There's always mention of news from within the mutant community –sightings of so-and-so, the latest escapades of various crime-fighters –and since Julian doesn't exactly have many people he's still in touch with, it's welcome information.

And fuck if working at Starbucks isn't one of the biggest hassles Julian has ever faced. If he hadn't once been training to be an X-Man, he figures he would probably have had a nervous breakdown by now.

When Julian gets his first paycheck (and he fucking deserves it for all his trouble), he begins looking into finding some old contacts. They're not _his_ contacts per se, and he still can't afford them (he has barely over one hundred dollars in his pockets –or rather, in the places he hides his cash; he lives on the streets, has sold most of the clothes he had before so that he's only got one outfit to spare, and he waits in the Laundromat when he's washing his Starbucks uniform), but he thinks that if he waits any longer, he might go crazy.

Which is why, why he sees a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye one day, he doesn't believe it at first.

Elixir stands on the opposite side of the counter, white eyes widened in surprise to see Julian, waiting to take his coffee order.

Julian grits his teeth and forces a smile. "What can I get for you?" he says.

Elixir blinks. Then: "Grande caramel Frappuccino," he says, still gaping. His eyes are blank but somehow Julian can tell that their gaze is dropping to his nametag, trying to confirm that yes, his barista actually _is_ Julian fucking Keller.

"Four seventy-eight," Julian says flatly. He gives no sign of acknowledgment because isn't this just _peachy_. Last he checked, he and Foley weren't on as bad of terms as they once were, but they're not going to be holding hands and braiding one another's hair anytime soon, either.

Elixir hands over a five and Julian makes his change and holds out his hand expectantly to drop it into Elixir's…

Who is still staring, the moron.

"Your change," Julian says through his teeth, "Will be twenty-two cents." His arm is getting tired and he just wants Foley to get out of his way. Christ, he better not blab. Julian's going to get a different job if a bunch of other X-Men start parading through the doors.

Elixir takes the coins and doesn't move.

Julian scowls as he takes one of the grande size cups from the stack beside him. "You're holding up the line. Which is long, by the way."

"Aren't you going to ask me for my name?" Elixir says, and Julian can't decide if it sounds mocking or not.

"I've got it covered," Julian sneers, then forces another grin. His gauntlets fly over to the work counter to hand off Elixir's cup to another barista and return before Elixir has made any move to leave.

Annoyed, Julian leans forward a little, "Keep moving, Foley. I've got work to do."

"What time does your shift end?" he demands.

Julian narrows his eyes, "Why?"

"Because I want to ask you on a fucking date, obviously," Elixir spits, appearing, at least, to have recovered from his surprise enough to be sarcastic.

Julian weighs his options. His co-workers are still hurrying around the floor behind him and there's a line of customers waiting and dealing with Elixir is not worth the effort. "My shift ends at one," he says and just like that, Elixir moves on to the pick-up counter to wait for his drink.

At one o'clock, Julian leaves the supply closet of the staff room with his apron and cap in the backpack that is basically his snail shell. The staff on the floor is still working hectically, and the room beyond the counter is crowded.

Julian doesn't see any sign of golden skin and is relieved for it –until he walks outside and finds Elixir lounging against the wall.

"Loitering is forbidden," he says, brushing past.

"So this is where you've been? San Francisco?" Elixir says, falling into step next to Julian.

"Among other places," he mutters, moving through the crowd of people with practiced ease. Unfortunately, Elixir appears to possess the same ease, and he effortlessly trails after Julian, still there when the crowd begins to thin around them.

"Holy shit, Foley," Julian says, "What do you want from me?" He double checks to make sure Elixir's not wearing one of his costumes or anything that looks like one, because that would mean the chance that he's here to drag Julian on one of the X-Men's missions (in the moment, Julian forgets Elixir's initial surprise, lost in senses of roused suspicion). Elixir's wearing dark jeans and a black hoodie over a button down black shirt. It's all a stark contrast to his former White Queen impression, Julian will give him that.

"It's been what, a year?" Elixir says.

Julian stops walking and rounds on Elixir, arms crossed. "Almost," he says.

"I wasn't there –well, obviously. Cessily texted me."

"Incredible," Julian says tartly. Elixir speaks without a point that Julian can discern. "I mean, it's incredible that you think I would give enough shits about even half the things you say." He turns away abruptly to continue walking.

"I left, too, you know." Elixir calls after him.

Julian turns again, this time with a bark of laughter. "Sure,"

Elixir scowled, "You don't believe me?"

"They'd actually _let_ an Omega-level mutant like you leave?" Julian says incredulously. "Wouldn't Summers rather chain you to a rock than let you walk away?"

"Oh, I'm sure they've still got an eye on me somehow," Elixir says, waving a hand dismissively, "I mean, Cerebro's still a thing. Either of us are easy to find, if any telepath worth their salt is looking,"

"And you followed me just for that? Just to let me know that you also have a membership to the 'Former X-Men' club?" Julian scoffs. "Well, congratulations."

They exchange glares and Elixir crosses his arms and hunches his shoulders, appearing to try and fold in on himself. "Some people miss you, you know. Cessily, Santo –hell, even Noriko, probably. You could text once in a while."

"Don't patronize me," Julian says in disgust. He moves to walk away, and this time no response calls him back and he doesn't _look_ back.

* * *

Julian's got an appointment with Big Eye Pete, a mutant gangster who's got enough connections to help Julian out, but not enough to be out of his reach.

He walks through the streets in the evening and it's pleasantly warm out and the night crowd is just beginning to come out. A mutant girl's was found dead the morning after Elixir found Julian. Her arms were cut off, all six of them, and that makes her the thirty-fifth mutant dead in the past nine months, the sixth this month alone. Whoever's killing the mutants are picking up speed.

Julian knows the name of all thirty-five mutants and the way they were all found and he's bringing these statistics to Big Eye Pete.

* * *

Big Eye Pete, as it turns out, has one very large eye and, frankly, is more deserving of the name 'Cyclops' than Scott Summers himself.

He considers all that Julian's said, leaning back in a great big black leather chair and scratching at his goatee.

They're sitting in the office of a popular mutant nightclub Pete operates from (because isn't that always the way?) and Pete's got men three men standing in the room, one of whom has a scaled arm that puts Anole's to shame.

"So what you're sayin' is," Pete says after a moment, "Is that you, a former X-Man, want my manpower to hunt down an anti-vigilante group and bring 'em in ta whatever higher powers that may be an' in return for my generosity and resources, you're willin' ta pay me what I make five times over in a month?"

"Not even your manpower," Julian says, "I want the word out. I want people on the lookout for this murderer. These kids are dying left and right. They're gonna keep dying because some guys think being a mutant means there's something wrong with you."

Pete looks unimpressed.

"They're going after mutants that are physically different from homo sapiens," Julian says. He stares Pete in the eye until he's sure he's got his point across.

"I'll send you coordinates to the location you're to drop off my money. I expect my man to have it by nine A.M tomorrow. You'll get a call: a name and a location," Pete says. "You'll have to go from there,"

Julian opens his mouth to protest.

"That's the deal, kid," Pete says, "I get this vigilante business –really, I do. But I run a business, Mr. Keller. I look at profits, and givin' you men for a couple of bucks outta the goodness of my heart… I ain't exactly seein' the profit turnin' here. So you'll get a name and a location, and that's it."

* * *

Julian's waiting at a pier –one of them, the one with the good hot dog stand next to the tourist map stand –and he's got a lunch box full of an amount of cash a good number of people would kill him for.

He's sitting on a bench at the end of the pier and maybe something about the way he's glaring at everyone is keeping anyone from sitting down next to him.

Then somebody does.

"Oh _God_," Julian says, "Please tell me you're not Pete's guy,"

Elixir raises his white eyebrows. "I don't remember sleeping with anyone named "_Pete_ recently," he says.

"What?"

"What?"

They stare at each other and it occurs to Julian that Elixir is here for other reasons. He sighs and is about to verbally attack Elixir with a huge guy with grey skin sits down next to him and says, "You're Julian Keller," he says. "I'm Henry. The contact."

Julian stares at the contact. "Of course you are," he says after a moment, "Here's Pete's lunch," He hands off the lunchbox of money to Henry who nods at him.

"You'll have your name and place," Henry says, and stands up to leave.

"Please tell me you're not buying drugs," Elixir says. "Because I know the biological effects all drugs have on the body, and if you're doing drugs, I might have to kill you for it."

"What the hell are you doing here, Elixir?" Julian sighs.

"I can help you," Elixir says, "With whatever it is you're doing."

"Why?"

He doesn't blink, "I don't have a place."

"Christ," Julian scrubs a hand over his face, "Don't you have any money?"

"Sure," Elixir says, "Just not enough to pay rent for any place around here,"

"What makes you think I have money?"

"You always have money, for one," He says, "And you just handed off a whole bunch of it to some guy named Henry, who must be Pete's guy."

Julian scrutinizes Elixir for a moment, "You don't look homeless." he says finally. "And if you're homeless, why the hell are you buying caramel frappucinos?"

To this, he received a sigh and what he was sure was an eye roll (he couldn't quite tell; Elixir's pupils and irises were both a very light gray), as if the answer was obvious, "I've been sleeping at different places each night," he says, "And possibly stealing clothes in the morning,"

"Stealing…" Julian's eyes drop down to Elixir's hoodie and jeans. "So what you're trying to say here is that you've been whoring yourself out for food and shelter and that now you want to get in my business in return for food and shelter,"

Elixir waves a hand dismissively, "I can get the food on my own, but yeah. That's what I'm saying."

Julian weighs his options. "You don't even know what it is I'm doing, and you want to help?"

Elixir shrugs, "Sure,"

"What happens if I say 'fuck off'?" Julian says.

Another shrug. "Then I'll fuck off and you'll have one person to rely on, and if you get in a fight and die or something, good luck with that. You could've had someone at your back. Someone who could heal you."

"You're seriously underestimating me here," Julian mutters.

Elixir only responds with an infuriatingly innocent smile, all perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth, like he knows he's about to get what he wants. "But you can see my point, can't you, Keller?"

There's silence. Julian cannot believe he's about to—

"You have to get a job," he says finally, "To help pay rent." He tells himself that the way Elixir's grin widens into something genuine doesn't make him feel like this is a good decision. He tells himself it's a godawful decision, and that's he's only making it for tactical reasons and not -_definitely not_ -because he's lonely.


	2. Chapter 2

Julian wakes up to the smell of pancakes and it takes him all of three seconds to jump out of bed and run out into the kitchen, hands zooming ahead of him, ready to punch the lights out of someone.

Elixir turns around and raises an eyebrow at the hand hovering mere millimeters from his face. "'Morning," he says.

"Oh." Julian says, remembering. He's not really sure why he thought a bad guy would break in bearing pancakes. His eyes fall on the pan in Josh's hand and the steaming plate of already made pancakes on his kitchen counter. "I didn't know I had pancake mix,"

"You didn't," Elixir says, "I went out to get some. I got a job, too,"

"You did not," Julian glances at the clock on the oven. It's seven-thirty.

"Fine. I got a call saying I got accepted for a job I applied to before. I start tonight."

"Tonight," Julian repeats.

"Yeah, well, seven to three A.M," Elixir shrugs, "Why, what are your hours? Wait, is this whole investigation thing at night? Because I have Wednesdays and Sundays off." He turns and slides the pancake still in the pan onto a plate. "I'd put these on your table, but," He looks pointedly at the empty kitchen space where there would usually be a table in any other apartment.

Julian didn't see the point of investing in furniture. He has a mattress and a dresser and a couple of dishes and plates. "I'm at the Starbucks you went to the other day five-thirty to one on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and then two to closing time also on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Wednesday and Friday two to closing at Marvel Bowling Alley, and I wait tables at Jemmie's Diner on weekends from"

"-uh, maybe you should write it down," Elixir decides, "Also, what's your number?"

Julian stares at Elixir for a moment and then takes the plate of pancakes and goes back to his room.

On the way, he glances to the corner of the main room off the kitchen to where he'd set Elixir up on the ground for the night. The blankets and pillow are all stacked up in a neat pile next to a bag of Elixir's things that he brought along in a way and Julian feels a twinge of resentment toward that perfectly neat pile.

"Hey," Elixir squawks after him.

"I have the lunch shift," Julian says, "I need energy,"

"Fuck you, I made those,"

"You made them with my pan,"

Elixir calls something after him, but Julian shuts his room door, effectively muffling the words.

* * *

When Julian emerges from his room half an hour later with an empty plate and the intent to take a shower and get ready for work, Elixir is nowhere to be found, and Julian's glad for it.

He's not sure what he expected when he agreed to board with Elixir, but he hasn't actually had a roommate in over a year, and he feels like he's forgotten what to do with another person living in the same space as him. He hasn't actually had someone to really _talk _to, yet alone one that he _knows_ in over a year.

He brushes his teeth and undresses absently –absently, because he isn't using his hands and it doesn't occur to him that he's left them in his room until he's already in the shower and he needs to shampoo.

It's not that cold outside the shower, mostly because the water wasn't all that warm to begin with, but Julian streaks out of the bathroom, on one hand (hah) already opening the door of his room and summoning his gauntlets to have them meet him in the middle.

"Shit!"

One gauntlet knocks Elixir in the head and he goes tumbling over, sprawling across the middle of the floor.

Julian cringes and catches his gauntlets.

Elixir has a plastic bag of what looks like more food still clutched in one hand, the other rubbing the spot on his head where he's been hit. "Jesus Christ, still a spaz, huh, Keller?" he says, climbing his feet. He blinks, standing across from Julian, and Julian's pretty sure he gets a once over.

It dawns over him that he's dripping on the tile floor and that he's stark naked. He doesn't move. He hasn't had any self-consciousness about anything since he was fourteen.

"What?" he does say defensively, "I forgot my hands,"

"You hit me in the head," Elixir accuses.

"You can heal yourself," Julian says.

"Doesn't mean it doesn't fuckin' _hurt_," He blinks. "You're skinnier," he says.

"What?"

"What?" He shrugs, "You are. You haven't been eating right, have you?"

"God, you're not gonna get on me about my _health_ all the time, are you?" Julian groans, because that would be an honest nightmare.

"Only if you get, like, a disease or something," Elixir appears to be looking him over again, as if to ascertain whether or not he does have a disease.

"Right," Julian says slowly. The conversation is dwindling, the sense of awkwardness is increasing exponentially. It's time to turn tail and head back to finish taking a shower. He leaves Elixir to his own devices, padding back to the bathroom and dripping more water across the tiles.

"Nice birthday suit," Elixir calls out just as the door closes, once it's too late for Julian to turn and respond.

* * *

Julian doesn't know if he really expected anything to really change, but it doesn't. He hardly even sees Elixir around for the first two weeks. They work opposing hours and when Julian's getting back to the apartment, Josh is either gone or on his way out, a backpack slung over his shoulder and something to eat on the kitchen counter, because he seems to have realized that Julian can't cook for shit.

And there's no word from Big Eye Pete, either, even though Julian checks his phone every other hour, it seems.

On the upside, there haven't been any dead mutants showing up anywhere. Julian's been listening to the news obsessively on the radio whenever he can, and apparently the X-Men are in outer space again –at least, Magneto is.

On Sunday night, or rather, Monday morning, Julian staggers into the apartment and digs through the cupboards for something to eat. Sometime during the week, a mini fridge appeared in the kitchen, but there's only fruits and vegetables in there.

Julian has just opened a bag of chips (reduced-fat vege straws, which Elixir has bought in bulk) when the door opens and Elixir walks in, hair spiked up, eyes lined with kohl and wearing tight leather pants and nothing under his dark jacket. His usual bag is hanging off one shoulder and he stops in the middle of the room when he sees Julian.

"Hey," Elixir says, "I thought your shift ended a couple of hours ago," It's pretty much code for 'usually you're asleep right now; what are you still up for?'.

"Wasn't tired," Julian shrugs, stuffing a chip in his mouth, "Went for a walk. Is that glitter in your hair?" he steps closer to inspect, noting suddenly the scent of cigarette smoke, alcohol and cologne coming off of Elixir.

Elixir brushes a hand through his hair, dusting away –yeah, glitter.

"Jesus, Foley, where the hell do you work?" Julian wants to say. He doesn't know why he doesn't. He just stares, and Elixir doesn't offer any sort of explanation.

"So, still no word from the Pete guy?" Elixir says, "And, like, I didn't tell her, but I've been texting X. She's in San Francisco right now, she flew in the other day. She'd help, you know. With this whole…thing."

"You text Laura?" Julian says incredulously.

"We were in X Factor together. I saved her from the Legacy Virus once," he says like that explains everything.

Julian shakes his head, "Laura's got other things to do," he says, "And we don't know anything yet," he adds, even though Elixir has a point and Laura is more than competent at tracking people down.

They stare at each other for a moment before Elixir shrugs, "Alright." he takes another bite out of his apple as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash, "For the rent," he says before turning and heading for the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower,"

"Don't get that glittery shit stuck in the drain," Julian warns.

* * *

Another week passes, and Julian still doesn't see Elixir all that much, which is perfectly fine because Julian's always thought that Elixir can only be tolerated in small doses and he's a little rusty with conversing with people.

On Wednesday night, as Julian's heading back to the apartment, his cellphone buzzes in his pocket and in a text from an unknown number, there's two lines of text:

_Friends Against Mutants, FOH chapter_

_member named Don at [link to Google Maps]_

For a moment, Julian just stares. Then he's forwarding the text to Elixir and shooting off the ground to fly to the apartment.

Elixir bursts in through the door just minutes after Julian arrives, and he's panting hard and out of breath. He's wearing make-up and looks like he did the other night, though Julian supposes he's got an excuse for looking like he does, because it's his night off and he can do whatever the hell he likes. "Hey," Elixir says, "I got your text. What are we going to do?"

Julian checks his watch, "It's almost eleven," he says, "I'm going to the address to look around, there's probably no one there right now."

"I'm coming with you," Elixir says firmly, "I've been in the area before. It's a couple blocks from Mutant Town, which is just fucking creepy, when I think about it." He heads for the door again.

Julian bites back an 'are you going to change?' and figures it's really none of his business, and if Elixir wants to walk around looking like a prostitute, he can. They were X-Men, after all; they've all seen more provoking costumes, and while Julian appreciates the view, he's never quite understood the practicality of fighting in the near-nude.

Elixir leads the way back out onto the street and they walk silently down the sidewalk which is occupied mostly by the night crowd of the city, all dressed scantily and ignoring Julian and Elixir for the most part.

In a couple of blocks, they arrive across from the address, which turns out to be an auto shop.

Its windows are barred but dark, and when they go around the back, Julian has no problem convincing the door to open –locks have never stopped him –and once they're inside, he takes out the cameras and they sweep the shop, locating the office and going inside.

"Feels like the old missions," Elixir says, as Julian unlocks the door and the drawers on the desk and cabinets inside the office, "Well, maybe the X Factor missions more than the regular ones,"

"Look for anything about the F.O.H," Julian says, "Or an appointment calendar with locations and names,"

Elixir doesn't say anything, but Julian supposes his might be nodding at his turned back.

He opens the top drawer of the filing cabinet, revealing folders of receipts and business cards. Great.

"I don't think this guy's trying to _hide_ anything," Elixir says after a moment. "Look,"

When Julian turns, Elixir is holding up something that looks like a magazine. He draws closer and sees that it's one of those community newsletters; this one is strongly anti-mutant, if the open letter on the front page about mutants ruining the sacredness of the traditional education system is anything to go by.

"Well now we _know_ this guy's an asshole," Julian says, wrinkling his nose, "But we still need to find something about his connection to the F.O.H,"

"Right,"

There's something about working together on a mission, Julian thinks, that takes the compulsion to snark out of Elixir; he's purely professional as he continues searching through the desk.

Julian turns back to the filing cabinet and, deciding the first drawer is an unhelpful waste of time and most likely used for actual _work_ purposes, he moves on to the second drawer.

This one is just more receipts and there's even one porn magazine (Wow, Don, Julian thinks to himself) and Julian's about to give up on this drawer when he reaches a folder in the back that's full of newspaper clippings.

Julian looks them over and they're nothing new; he's read them all before, and he's memorized all of the names. It makes him mad, makes him tremble bodily with anger and his vision turns red.

"Keller," someone says sharply, and he blinks, coming back to the present, and can feel Elixir's presence right behind him.

"What," he bites out,

"I've got this guy's home address, but there's nothing about the F.O.H here," Elixir says.

Julian turns and hands him the newspaper clippings, "Well he's part of the murders, he's got to be." he says.

Elixir is quiet as he looks at the clippings, and then he puts them back into the folder neatly and hands it all back to Julian. "Let's go," he says finally, "We'll find something at his house tomorrow."

"We're going now," Julian says.

"He'll _be_ there right now," Elixir protests, "We can go tomorrow during the day when he's at work. Call in saying you're sick"

"-I don't care if he's there or not," Julian finds himself saying, "If he's there, we can take him out, and that's one less murderer on the loose"

"-that'll tip off the rest of his people," Elixir snaps, "And then they'll know someone's coming for them. Don't be fucking stupid, Keller. Think about this logically for once,"

"What d'you mean, 'for once'?" In the back of his head, he knows that Elixir is being perfectly reasonable, but there's a whole storm of pent-up frustration and anger of this case that Julian's been building on for months. He's sick of mutants getting killed; he's been seeing it for _years_ –the kids on the bus, people on the news after M-Day, missing persons on the news even _before_ M-Day, his friends during Bastion's invasion… it's all these perfectly good people getting killed and he's fucking _sick of it_.

For the first time in years, Julian thinks about Brian Cruz, who loved his powers and lost them and was blown up on a bus with a bunch of other kids to top it off. He remembers shy Laurie Collins being brought back into the mansion with her brains oozing out of a hole in her head, and he thinks about Jay Guthrie, who had a heart of gold and the voice of an angel, wingless and broken and dead.

"_What do you mean, 'for once'_?" Julian repeats, hands reaching out and grabbing Elixir by the lapels of his leather jacket and pushing him back against the wall. He strides forward, into Elixir's space and stares him down, looking into wide eyes that always look so blank when he doesn't look carefully.

"Keller," Elixir says carefully, hands wrapping around the gauntlets on his jacket.

Julian almost wishes he could feel the sign of resistance. "You meant something by it," he says, "What?"

Elixir stares at him a moment more and then snaps, "You're a dumbass, Keller, a goddamn shithead! Half the time I've known you, you've been off doing something stupid and getting bitten in the ass for it. I'm not saying I wasn't the same before, because I was, but"

"-now you're better, is that it?" Julian snarls.

"Yeah, I am!" Elixir yells, "I used to want to die because I thought I was meant to save everyone. That's what being a superhero is, right? And there were so many people whose lives I thought I could have saved who just slipped right by me, and I couldn't understand _why_ I couldn't save them. I thought I was weak and I couldn't save anybody and I _wanted to fucking die_."

To this, Julian can't find anything to say because the words just resonant with him so much and he can't—

"Don't be stupid, Keller," Elixir says quietly, "Don't be _rash_ for once, don't run into a situation thinking recklessness and adrenalin will get you out alright for once. Remember that you can't just save everyone for once, even if you want to pretend it's not true."

Julian feels his grip on Elixir fall away and he turns his back on him. "Whatever," he says when he knows his voice won't shake. "We'll go tomorrow," He turns and yanks open the door and someone's already standing there.

The man is tall and smiling wide and narrow-eyed. "Why wait?" he says, and punches Julian out of consciousness before he can react.

* * *

Elixir is bleeding from a gash on his forehead, white hair and gold skin sticky with crimson. His hands are tied behind his back around the pole he's sitting against and there's a collar around his neck, and Julian knows that there must be one around his, too, or their situation would be laughable.

He doesn't have hands, so when Julian looks down, he sees his legs are cuffed at the ankles and he's chained to a metal pole opposite Elixir, whose eyes are closed.

Julian rolls over and props himself on his elbows, looking around.

They're in some sort of basement or warehouse or some mixture of the two it's dark except for a battery-powered lamp on the middle of the concrete floor that reflects off Elixir's skin and barely illuminates the walls around them.

Julian can see a staircase leading to a dark doorway behind Elixir, no light streaming from under the door or anything.

"Elixir," he says quietly, "Foley, you awake?"

Elixir stirs weakly, mumbling something under his breath.

"Josh!" Julian hisses, louder. "Fucking wake up, man," He moves his legs around, jangling the chain attached to them against the ground to create some noise. "Josh, we got taken," He sighs when Elixir only stirs again and then falls silent. "FUCK! OH MY GOD, NO! STOP, PLEASE, PLEASE STOP IT!" Julian screams suddenly.

Elixir starts awake, looking around wildly and gasping. When he sees that there's no one in the room, he stomps his feet angrily on the floor in front of him, "You little shit!" he yells, "What are you _doing_?"

"Had to get you awake somehow," Julian says, "We've gotta make a plan,"

"Oh yeah? And how's that gonna happen?" Elixir snaps, "You're chained like a goddamn mermaid," He suddenly hisses with pain and cringes.

"You okay?" Julian says,

"Might be concussed," Elixir groans, "This stuff's easier to diagnose when I have the psychic biology thing that comes with my whole mutation,"

"Stop being so nonchalant," Julian says,

"I've always found that banter is the best way to pass the time when you're being held captive by yet another group of people who want you dead and are probably going to get it done," Elixir says pleasantly, "You do realize, of course, that the difference between this situation and most past ones is that we don't have any backup that's gonna swoop in at the last minute, right?"

"Shut up," Julian grumbles, "Okay? Just…" He reaches to run a hand through his hair, but stops short when he remember he has no control of his gauntlets and what's more, he doesn't see his gauntlet anywhere. He freezes, feeling a hot rush of embarrassment that used to happen a lot more when he first… when he first woke up after the attack on San Francisco.

Elixir is watching him warily from across the room, silent.

"What?" Julian snaps, "What're you looking at?"

"Be quiet," Elixir says, "We have to hear them coming. Look, if they untie us, we're still trained in hand-to-hand combat"

-Julian snorts loudly

"-Alright, bad wording, but we can still fight to some extent –we're more trained than they probably are and we can make it, but _only_ if we're untied, which won't happen if they think we're being trouble." Elixir reasons.

"And why exactly would they untie us?" Julian says.

"You're handicapped and I'm injured," Elixir says, "And all we were doing was snooping around their office. I wasn't exactly able to put up a stellar fight. There were four men built like Strong Guy, for Christ's sake."

"How much of a fight did you put up?"

"More than you, princess," Elixir shoots back, "And blood's dripping into my fucking eye, so you tell _me_ who got the short-end of the stick,"

"Hm, let's think. Oh, _huh_ –still me," Julian says.

"You're so full of it, Keller," Elixir says, "It's been two and a half years. Karma lost half her leg during the same battle, but at least she started trying to move on after a while,"

"Xi'an has a bionic prosthetic, first of fucking all," Julian snarls, feeling rage bubble up in his chest again, "Something that _my _mutation won't let me have because of some electromagnetic bullshit. And she _had_ someone, okay? Her girlfriend was there for her and she's got a goddamn family," he feels like he's just whining, which only makes him angrier. "My parents don't acknowledge my existence and you know, I always figured Miss Frost was the closest thing I had to family besides the Hellions back before M-Day. I kept telling myself she was too busy to make personal calls with her old students, but that's not it. They didn't care, Foley," He's shouting, using his voice wrong and making his throat sore. He's going to be hoarse soon. "They don't fucking _care,_ and I was living with it for years and I thought that was normal and I'm pretty sure everyone I left behind does, too. I don't give a damn about what you or anyone else thinks is the proper amount of time to be bitter about getting your hands burnt off is."

"Keller." Elixir says, and there's nothing there –no indignation, no anger, no shock –nothing. He's just watching Julian, expressionless. "Fine. None of our old teachers care about us. Maybe they try, when they're not busy with their own shit, but then who else is going to care about you but yourself?" His voice is still flat. "Everyone deserves to be happy, you know."

"Point?" Julian says testily.

"It's easier to be happy when you let things go."

Julian stares at Elixir for a while. "It's easier to be happy when you're not going to get killed and viciously mutilated," he says finally.

Elixir gives a sound of exasperation, "Whatever," he mutters, ducking his head as if to sleep.

Time passes, and Julian thinks he might have _actually_ gone to sleep, but then he jerks his head up.

"Hear that?" he says, and a moment later there's light from under the doorway at the top of the staircase and Elixir hisses, "Act helpless,"

"Fuck you," Julian manages before dropping down and rolling over onto his side and closing his eyes.

The door opens and there's the sound of heavy boots. Julian counts four pairs with heavy footfalls, most likely the thugs Elixir described. He doesn't try opening his eyes a little to peek at them and just lies still on the ground.

"Get the cripple awake," a man says and Julian recognizes the voice from earlier, "This one –this one's one of those X-Men assholes. Yellow skin. Black skin. He can kill a man with a touch. He's dangerous."

Footsteps approach Julian and readies himself so he isn't caught out in his faking when someone pulls him up to sitting position against the pole he's chained to and promptly hits him across the face.

His head knocks against the metal pole and his eyes snap open and water at the same time.

"You wanna give us a name, boy?" says the man leaning over him, a big man with a blond Hulk Hogan mustache and a cowboy hat that looks ridiculously new. "Gonna tell us why you're with an X-Man?"

"Who're the X-Men?" Julian says, earning another backhanded slap, this time across the other cheek.

Across the room, Elixir has been dragged to his feet, though he's still chained to the pole, and the man who'd knocked Julian out before has one hand around his throat and is hissing something in his ear, most likely something about his evils plans for the future.

"What's your _name_, cripple?"

It's not worth it. He grinds his teeth at the name, anyway, "Jim," he says, "Jim Rogers,"

"Run it through the database," the man by Elixir barked. He spoke to Elixir, "So the X-Men are sticking their noses into places they don't belong. As usual."

"You're committing homicide," Elixir says, "Someone's going to be sticking their noses into that no matter what,"

"So who's your boyfriend?"

"Just a cripple." Elixir says nonchalantly, "I got dumped with taking out the trash, which is you, by the way. Jim here was my guide around Mutant Town. Sorry about all this, Jim."

"No problem," Julian said acidly. What was that about not giving them trouble? That included being a smart-mouthed pain in the ass, too, right?

"You don't seem concerned, Elixir. That's your little superhero name, isn't it?"

"Oh, you're a fan? I'm sorry, I didn't bring a"

-His words were cut off with his air, and his feet were lifted off the grounded.

"It'd be a shame to kill you," the man said, leaning forward and keeping his grip around Elixir's throat, "But then, who'd miss you? You see, we've been watching you," he stepped back and Elixir dropped to the ground, gasping for air, "While you've been looking for us. You haven't been seen by any of the X-Men in four months."

The other two men in the room had been standing in the corner, but one of them stepped forward and handed the man the Elixir, clearly the employer of the three stooges, a manila folder.

"Wow, you made a file on me," Elixir says, "Is there a picture, too?"

"Joshua Foley, AKA Elixir," the Boss-Man says, "Aged nineteen; male; five foot ten inches. Biological manipulation, omega-level. Mother: Grace Foley. Father: Howard Foley. They disowned you. Good choice."

"You gonna tell me what I ate for breakfast this morning?" Elixir says with a barely contained snarl.

"Pancakes," Boss-Man says coolly, "With strawberry syrup. You had them at Woodly's Diner at three A.M after you got off work. And after you finished making social calls."

Julian can't see his face, but he thinks Boss-Man might be grinning. Evilly.

"Alright, so you guys did your homework," Elixir says, "What d'you want to know, then, if you know everything?"

"You've got us wrong," Boss-Man says,

"We don't got a hidden agenda," the man standing over Julian says. "Don't wanna know anything. We're just gonna kill you. Wipe the earth of you scum."

"You know our M.O," Boss-Man says,

"We like to cleanse you of your deformities before you get sent to the Lord's land," says the other guy, who Julian's mentally dubbed Henchmen #1. The other two are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Julian's going to kill them all.

"Although I'll admit," Boss-Man says, grabbing Elixir by the lapels of his jacket and hauling him up to his feet again. "I've never tried skinning anyone alive before." he says, reaching out and brushing his knuckles against Elixir's cheek. "But I bet you won't be so pretty when we can't tell where your face used to be."

Elixir cringes away from the touch and snaps at Boss-Man's hand with his teeth, evidently nipping the end of a finger.

Boss-Man swears, stepping back and shaking his bitten hand. "Someone get me a fucking knife," he roars and Tweedle Dee apparently has one in his suit jacket, because he hands it over. "I'm going to start right fucking now. You're a work of art, you know that? You hated muties once just as much as any sane person should, and the second you became one, you just ran right to them, didn't you?" He presses the flat-edge of the long knife against Elixir's cheek. "Know what that says? You're a coward. I woulda offed myself in seconds."

"No you wouldn't," Julian says.

Boss-Man whirls around, "Don, shut that one up. No wait, don't. I wanna hear him scream when he watches me carve up this son of a bitch."

"You won't get any satisfaction later, you know," Julian says, "You're angry right now because a caged animal bit you."

Behind Boss-Man's back, Elixir is staring at Julian with wide eyes, confusion clear in the furrow of his brow.

"When we're dead you're going to… you're going to have wished you waited," Julian says. "And tortured up properly,"

But Boss-Man threw back his head and laughed, "I'm not the one who does that," he says, "But you know what, that mutie school must actually teach something, because you're not so stupid. I shouldn't take away from Sanders's pleasure so selfishly. Sanders?" He holds up the knife by the tip of the blade, handle up.

Tweedle Dum –Sanders –approaches and takes the knife and he clearly has no qualms of any sort or any sort of dramatic flair, because he gets right into it, stabbing the knife right into Elixir's leg.


	3. Chapter 3

The room is silent except for Elixir's labored breathing and the slow _drip drip_ of drops of blood running down his face and along his jaw and dripping off his chin to splat on the floor.

The thugs are gone –left for lunch, Julian supposes. There's a dense feeling in the pit of his stomach and he thinks he could throw up. "Elixir?" he whispers.

"Hope you thought of something," Elixir says under his breath, so quiet Julian has to strain to hear, and voice thick through a bloody and probably broken nose besides, "'Cause I got nothing,"

Julian doesn't say anything because no, he doesn't have a goddamn plan and there's the definite feeling sitting heavy on his shoulders that it's going to be his fault when they finally die. He's bitter, too. He hasn't had a mission going this bad since he was sixteen, and he might add that almost _every_ major mission went badly somehow for the X-Men. "I shouldn't have gotten you into this," he says.

Elixir gives a laugh that ends in a pained groan. "That's probably the closest you've ever gotten to apologizing to anything," he says, "But in case you fucking forgot, I approached you." He spits blood and lifts his head weakly to look at Julian. One of his eyes is swollen shut, gold skin a brownish looking color where he's bruised, and his nose is definitely broken, trickling blood down his face. "Think we could get a little deux ex machina some time before I pass out from blood loss? Or before they come back? Which ever happens first."

"I'll do something stupid to get killed first, if you want," Julian says, feeling hollow.

"Thanks," Elixir mutters. He drops his head again and doesn't say anything for a while so Julian thinks that maybe he's passed out. Then he suddenly says, "Jim Rogers? Really?"

"It was the first name I could think of," Julian says defensively, but of course his heart's not really into it. He thinks that Elixir must live on nonchalance sometimes, and he needs it now, needs it to distract him, needs it to make him feel a little like everything's going to be okay, even though he knows it won't be. Julian won't deny a dying man last comforts.

Then Elixir really doesn't say anything else, so Julian just listens to his breathing and watches the rise and fall of his shoulders.

_Miss Frost,_ he thinks as loud as he can, _or anyone else who can hear me –please get here. Preferably before we start dying. I'm only nineteen for Christ's sake. I can't even legally _drink_ yet and I don't have my GED or a girlfriend. I work at Starbucks in Mutant Town and my roommate is a pain in the ass sometimes but I don't want him to get skinned alive, okay? And I don't want to die, either…_

The door at the top of the staircase opens and only Tweedle Dee comes in. He has a wide face and small eyes. He's balding prematurely, but he's got arms the size of Cables' just like Sanders. It's a question of whether he's got the personality of Sanders who, based on his proceedings earlier, is a torturer who, for once, doesn't care for talking while at the job. He just slices and punches and kicks, mindlessly brutal.

Tweedle Dee approaches Elixir and dumps a jug of what must be freezing water because the gold-skinned mutant sputters to life, shuddering.

Instead of picking up his slow beating of Elixir to death, Tweedle Dee strides over to Julian and kneels down in front of him, considering something.

"You picked the worst guy to guide round town, son," Tweedle Dee says finally. "What happened to your hands?"

"What's it to you?" Julian spits, riled.

"I'd like to thank whoever did it,"

"Tough," Julian says through his teeth, "He's dead,"

Tweedle Dee sits back on his heels, "You're no local guide," he sneers. He grabs Julian by the hair and leans in to hiss, "And I don't fucking care. You're a mutant, ain't you? We're going to kill you,"

"You can't kill all of us," Julian says.

"No," Tweedle Dee says, "But we can still kill you," He laughs, breathing obscenely in Julian's ear. Hand still gripping his hair, Tweedle Dee yanks Julian's head to look at Elixir, who is blinking slowly, eyes beginning to flutter close. "Your friend is a call boy. Did you know that? He helps pays the rent real well, don't he?"

Julian's quiet.

"Your yellow-skinned mutie friend is a fucking whore," Tweedle Dee says. "Think he'll let me fuck him if I say I won't cut of his hands to match yours?"

Julian felt the blood leave his face. "I'll kill you," he promises, "I'm going to kill you first," He liked Sanders more, he thinks. At least he kept his mouth shut.

Tweedle Dee laughs and pulls away, standing, "If you look away," he says, "I'll cut your eyes out, and then you won't be able to see anything, but you'll be able to hear this fucker scream when I peel the skin off his face."

Elixir's eyes are wide when Tweedle Dee approaches and pulls him to his feet. He falls again. His left kneecap is shattered and he's been stabbed in the right thigh. "Don't," he says, breathing hard and panicked, "I have -I –I have syphilis. Stage three."

Tweedle Dee stares at him for a moment, but Elixir has never uttered a word in all the time that Julian's known him that hasn't sounded like truth, one way or another. He speaks with conviction. "Figures you muties are diseased," Tweedle Dee says finally. "Bet you gave it to him, too, didn't you? Faggot."

Elixir laughs, "Name-calling," he says weakly, "That's cute,"

He's hauled to his feet and punched across the face and let to drop to the ground again. Elixir gasps in pain, eyes wide. Most of his lower face is covered in blood now and it's dripping into his open mouth. He spits off to the side.

"Hey," Julian calls out, inexplicably, because why draw attention to himself? "What's your deal with him? I'm a mutant, too,"

"He's an X-Man," Tweedle Dee says, like it's basic logic, "Makes him worse. What's your power anyway? Bein' a cripple?"

Julian grinds his teeth together, but if Tweedle Dee never figured it out for himself, he's not going to tell the truth. "Probability. I can predict the outcome of things," It's the least threatening thing he can think of, though he knows that such an ability is actually quite powerful.

At this point, he just figures that Tweedle Dee doesn't have the brains to come to the same conclusion, and his theory seems to be correct; Tweedle Dee roars with mocking laughter, "And what's the odds of you getting killed, huh?"

"I don't have any powers right now," Julian says icily. "But if you really want to know, I could probably tell you what the odds of you being the one who gets to kill us is,"

Tweedle Dee's eyes flash with greed for a moment, but then he scoffs, "Can't trick _me_, mutie,"

Julian shrugs. The upside to having to put up with this guy appears to be that he likes to talk more than he likes to torture. He's one of _those_ guys.

"I could tell you anything, really," Julian says, "But I guess it's a stupid power. Who wants to know the likelihood of the lottery or whatever, right?" He's watching Tweedle Dee on the other side of the room, watching _him_ with an expression in his eyes that says he's starting to believe Julian.

"You think you're real clever, huh, _Jim_?" Tweedle Dee says slowly, drawling the name, mocking.

Julian could laugh because he can't believe he picked that name. There is something utterly ridiculous about sitting here with these FOH-wannabe who so quickly believed him when he said _My name is Jim Rogers, my mutant power is telling you if you could win the lottery_. Also, apparently he's some sort of tourist guide. It's all getting to be a too much and maybe it's the possible concussion speaking, but Julian suddenly can't take this all seriously anymore, especially not when he's thinking of this huge muscular guy (whose doing his damn best to be threatening) as Tweedle Dee.

So Julian laughs and okay, maybe it makes him seem a little insane and yeah, it does earn him an enraged backhanded slap that makes him feel like he might've something in his neck, hard.

Elixir is watching Julian from across the room with an odd expression. It's not a _what the hell are you doing_ expression or surprise or anger. It's a contemplative look, like he's trying to plan something, albeit through a world of pain.

"You think you're _real_ smart, don't you?" Tweedle Dee snarls, grabbing Julian by the front of the shirt.

Julian isn't even paying attention. His eyes are locked on Elixir, who's noticed his gaze and now returns it.

He stares and wonders if there's anyway he can make his thoughts be known. He wants to say that it's going to be okay because he suddenly thinks it will be, even if his mutant power isn't actually to predict probabilities.

"Look at me, you son of a bitch," Tweedle Dee yells, voice too close to Julian's ear.

He flinches and turns his gaze to stare the man in the face. "Yes," he says, "To answer your question, it's definitely possible that I have a higher level of intelligence than you do."

Tweedle Dee raises his fist and all seems to stop as Julian watches. A moment of opportunity has arrived and the realization of this is enough to make Julian nearly miss it.

His captor is standing close and Julian is fairly sure that somehow he managed to confuse losing part of your arms with being able to move the rest, and Julian briefly acknowledge that this has the potential to hurt like a bitch before he moves to the side of Tweedle Dee's incoming fist.

Tweedle Dee howls with pain when his knuckles meet the metal post that Julian was sitting against rather than his head and Julian takes the moment where the brute is keeled over to launch himself forward and grab Tweedle Dee around the neck from behind. He almost stumbles and misses because his legs are still bound together at the ankles, but then he manages to latch on and he begins to squeeze as hard as he can.

The struggle is what hurts and Julian winces but ignores it when Tweedle Dee claw at his arms trying to make him let go and even tries to get up and throw Julian off.

"Open the collar," Julian growls into Tweedle Dee's ear, "It needs homo sapien DNA to open, I know it does. So open it,"

Tweedle Dee gurgles something that sounds like stubborn disagreement, and his struggles begin to die down.

Then he's out cold but Julian doesn't let go.

He can hear his own heartbeat, thudding quickly and his teeth are clenched together tight.

"Julian, you're killing him," Elixir says softly from across the room.

"I know," Julian mutters, and doesn't look him in the eye.

Tweedle Dee dies and Julian doesn't let go for a few more seconds –for good measure, he thinks. Then he does let go and climbs off the body.

"Fuck," he says, because he has no hands.

He and Elixir stare at the corpse and the sound of a truck rolling over gravel somewhere overhead –outside, maybe –breaks the silence.

"Fuck," Elixir agrees, and then he faints.

Julian knows they're both dead if the rest of the humans get back to find their comrade dead, and he goes about patting Tweedle Dee down with an enthusiasm usually reserved for sexual encounters.

He doesn't find any keys in his search –although, really, what good did he think a key would do him at this point? –and it doesn't occur to him to try to find a way to get the power-inducing collar off until he can hear people entering a room overhead.

Elixir is slumped forward, but Julian thinks he can make out some sort of button-panel looking thing on the back of his collar, so he moves Tweedle Dee's bare arm out across the floor and then pretty much throws himself backwards to break his neck on said arm.

The back of Julian's head hits the ground and he finds himself cursing none too quietly as he regrets life and every single decision he's ever made that's brought him to where he is.

The door begins to open and that's when Julian hears a soft click of a lock releasing that tells him the collar around his neck has snapped open.

_Dear God or whoever the hell is up there,_ Julian sends out a quick thought, _thank you so much. You'll probably only regret this a little bit later down the road._

"What the fuck?" someone shouts from the top of the staircase.

Julian takes a moment to reach out, to feel the presence of every object in the room, before he sits up and sends Tweedle Dee flying toward the newcomers.

Shots ring out.

Tweedle Dee is already dead.

Julian urges the chains around his feet to pull away in different directions and his bonds shatter, allowing him to spring to his feet before the spectacle of a flying cadaver can quite be dealt with.

He's going to kill all of these men, Julian decides with a grim smile spreading across his face. He steps toward the men and they find, even as they aim, at their guns are flying out of their hands.

Boss-man is in the front of the group and Julian reaches out like he's going to give him something and feels the ways the air wraps around Boss-man's body. He can feel the way his limbs can be persuaded to move as a whole and he tells the body to twirl one way and suggests for the head to twist the other.

It must be strange for your body to betray you, he thinks, watching Boss-man collapse.

His men are staring at Julian in horror, unarmed and lined up like ducks.

"You ain't no tour guide," Don says stupidly.

Julian smiles and it feels creepy even to him, "No," he agrees, "I was an X-Man," He pulls Don's eyes out and calls for one of the confiscated guns to his hand. He's no Magneto, but he can still guide the bullet out of the gun and toward Don's head as he stumbles back. He lets physics do the rest. There's a thud when Don hits the ground and then there's nobody in the doorway.

Julian frowns. Sanders has fled, nowhere to be seen, though Julian could have sworn he saw him in the beginning of everything.

Elixir remains limp where he's bound and so it's Julian's first order of business to fly one of the bodies over and use Don's hand, still warm, to unlock the power-inducer around Elixir's neck.

It's like a switch has been flipped and Elixir inhales a shuddery breath and lifts his head.

He blinks at Julian in confusion and then his gaze drops to Don's body on the ground beside him, pooling blood on the concrete. He looks unbelievably crushed when he meets Julian's eyes again. "You killed them," he says, and it's not a question.

"They deserved it," Julian says firmly, untying Elixir telekinetically, "Come on, can you stand? We've got to get out of here. One of them –Sanders –he got away, I think."

Elixir shakes his head. "Even if I… If I heal both legs, and," he stops, like he's internally assessing the damage, "Three of my ribs, I'll probably pass out again. Christ, you killed all of them,"

"Not Sanders," Julian reminds him. "Look, heal yourself and I'll carry you out and figure out where we are."

Elixir shakes his head again, "Take me outside first, then I'll heal myself when we know where the hell we are."

Julian gives in and scoops Elixir up, bridal-style, amidst hissed protest and small gasps of pain.

"Fuck, you fucker! Jesus _Christ_," Elixir swears at him and really, it's not even creative.

Julian really isn't even carrying Elixir's weight, because he's missing his arms up to about three inches below his elbows and if he wasn't a telekinetic, he would've dropped Elixir by now, what with the way he's squirming.

He steps over the bodies in the doorway above the staircase and the room they walk into is a cleared out warehouse. The vast room is empty, except for what looks like an operating table and some other surgical tools that are stationed in one corner. There's a newly laid out tarp on the ground and seeing it makes Julian's stomach twist, so he turns away from it quickly.

Outside, they appear to be in the middle of Nowhere, California, and there's a sign some ways out on the yard that says 'SOLD' in big red letters.

"They just bought this place," Elixir says, quieting.

Julian set him down on the ground, "Heal," he says, "I'm going to find whatever they drove up in."

"Can you hotwire?"

"Well, I'm not going back in to dig through some dead guy's pockets," Julian answers harshly. Then he adds, "Yeah. Gambit taught me once. I know the theory, and I can always try forcing the ignition if that doesn't work."

Elixir nods and turns his attention to his legs and Julian wanders off to look around the outside of the warehouse.

It's eerie, he decides, the way the world around them is silent. The warehouse isn't exactly built in the middle of nowhere –Julian can see another building off in the distance –but it's close.

He finds a truck abandoned around the back of the warehouse, out of sight from any cars that might pass on the dirt road out front.

The door is unlocked and Julian trieds to hotwire the stupid car for a couple of useless minutes before he gives up and sets about figuring out how to start the engine telekinetically instead.

The inside of the truck smells like smoke and sweat and the green peppermint tree hanging from the rear view mirror.

Julian rolls down the windows before driving toward the spot he left Elixir, just to air out the stench.

Elixir is still conscious when Julian rolls up to him and hops out of the truck. "Do I need to lift your ass or can you walk yet?"

Elixir tries to send him a glare, but it's ruined by how drained he looks. "Just for that," he says, "Carry me,"

"Can you walk, though?"

"How long do you think it take to heal a kneecap and a broken bone? Pick me up,"

"That's not an answer," Julian says.

"I'm weak and helpless," Elixir says flatly. "Carry me to the fucking truck,"

Julian eyes him with suspicion, but assists him into the passenger side of the car and puts it out of park, "Which way should we go?" he wonders.

"Either way," Elixir mutters, "Just get as far from here as possible. I'm calling Emma,"

"The fuck you are," Julian says immediately, stopping the car at once.

"We have to report the scene of the crime," Elixir says, "I'd call Scott instead, but he's kind of gone AWOL,"

They're silent for a moment and then Elixir says carefully, "Is it… safe for you to be driving?"

"Would it be safer if you drove, when you're likely to pass out at any second?" Julian shoots back. "I can probably drive better with my powers than without," he says.

"No kidding,"

Julian opens his mouth to reply and then stops and stares at Elixir, whose eyes have widened.

"I didn't –I mean, I forgot –I…" he stammers, mortified. "Fuck, I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that,"

Julian keeps staring, but his stony expression is slowly melting into a squint of suspicion. "You really are concussed," he concludes, "If you're actually apologizing for something for once,"

Elixir looks like he wants to argue, but then bites his lower lip to keep from doing so. Maybe he figures he ought to be a little nicer to show the extent of his regret.

Julian finds that he honestly doesn't care, and he starts the engine again and concentrates on the road for a while. "Fine," he says eventually, "Call Frost if you want, but don't mention me. Say you've been tracking them on your own,"

"She'll know,"

"I don't care," Julian says.

Elixir sighs. "Do you think there are more of them?" he wonders, "I mean, has it just been the four of them killing all those mutants?"

"There's always more of them," Julian says bitterly.

Elixir shifts so that he can lean his head against the window. "Think I'm gonna pass out now," he mutters.

"For the love of God, Foley," Julian says, "Don't your dare go into another coma,"

He gets a snort in response, one that manages to express Elixir's offense at Julian's lack of faith in his ability. There's a stamina joke he's missing here, Julian's sure of it.

A moment later, Elixir's eyes are closed and Julian's pretty sure he's out cold.

He turns the radio on low and searches for something that isn't country or too-cheerful pop music. He settles on something new age that he remembers hearing once and hums along under his breath.

* * *

Elixir doesn't wake up for a long time and Julian has to stop when night falls and the truck dies right next to the green sign that says the next town is not for nine miles.

It's not for lack of gas that the car rolls to a stop; the truck hasn't had gas for miles, but Julian doesn't have the energy to control every individual part of the engine and the wheels any more. It took for fucking ever to figure out how it was all supposed to work together, anyway.

Julian leans back in his seat, feeling a sharp ache behind his eyes that tells him he's probably a couple of minutes away from passing out and that he should never drive a car telekinetically for fifty miles. Christ, why did he think it would be easier than just carrying Elixir all the way?

* * *

He wakes up with light shining in through the windows and Elixir still unconscious, slumped in the seat beside him.

Someone's tapping on the window, and he nearly has a heart attack when he recognizes them.

Laura looks back at him through the glass with an expectant expression, and he scrambles to unbuckle his seatbelt and climb out of the car.

"He's alive!" someone says, clapping, and he turns to see Megan standing a little ways behind Laura, wings outstretched and fluttering excitedly.

"What are you doing here?" Julian says incredulously, "How did you _find_ us?"

Laura looks him over, eyes piercing, like she can see his goddamn soul. She looks more or less the same as how he remembers her, which is strange, because he's suddenly aware that he might not look like how everyone else remembers _him_. He recalls Elixir's comment about how he's lost weight.

"The Cuckoos sent us," Laura says, "We took care of the bodies and notified the police, and then I tracked your sent this way."

Megan wanders over to the truck and peers in, "Hey, is Josh okay?"

"He's worn out," Julian says, "From healing himself."

Laura glances toward the car again, but then turns her gaze back onto Julian, "There was a sixth scent at the warehouse," she says, "There are three bodies and the two of your are still alive," she states this all and leaves an opening for him to explain why it all is.

"One of them got away. Sanders."

"I'll take care of him," Laura says.

"No, I'll"

"-_I'll take care of him_," Laura repeats.

"This is a very serious case, Julian," Megan says, "Civilians, even ones that are part of the Friends of Humanity, shouldn't have access to incapacitating devices that target the X-Gene. Not to mention, these men are suspected to have killed several dozen mutants. This is a genuine threat and we need to find the rest of the culprits, if there are more than these four men carrying out the murders. We're taking it from here,"

"'We'?" Julian says, "You mean the X-Men? You know I tried to get people to notice and do something _before_, right? And you're just _now_ stepping in because"

"-Because we've noticed," Laura says calmly. "You're welcome to join us, but I doubt you will do it if it means rejoining the X-Men. You need to recuperate, anyway. Watch out for Josh, will you?" The _or else_ is unsaid, but Julian hears it anyway.

Julian stares at Laura and searches her face again. It's then that he realizes that she _is_ different, expression softer, eyes less hard. She's wearing her old uniform, but she doesn't look like a menace, standing there –she doesn't look like a machine made for killing. Somewhere along the way over the years, she's learned to act human –or rather, she's learned how to _be_ more human.

It's a good look on her, Julian thinks. She looks healthy, more certain of herself as a person. He wonders if she's happy, doing whatever it is she does day to day.

Slowly, Julian nods, "Sure," he says, subdued, "I'll do what I can,"

Laura looks satisfied and that's when Megan launches herself at Julian and gets her arms around him, "We miss you," she complains when Julian sputters and tries to untangle himself. "Can't you call or text or even log onto Facebook once in a while? I know you remember the password of that account I set up for you,"

Julian sighs and doesn't apologize, although he says, "I should have called," and it's as close to an apology as he can manage and he finds, as he says it, that he actually _is_ sorry. "Was Santo pissed?" he wonders.

"Yes," Laura says. "Cessily was hurt, too, as were many of the friends you left behind."

He meets her eyes and she probably hears the question he doesn't ask: _and what about you_? "Keep in touch, Julian," Laura says, sounding weary. She steps forward and hesitates for a moment before kissing Julian softly on the cheek.

Then she turns to Megan, "We will drop Julian and Josh off at the next town," she says, "And then we'll go back to Greymalkin,"

Megan nods, and opens the door of the truck, pulling Elixir out with surprising strength. "Little help here?" she wheezes when his limp body tumbles out onto her and they both fall to the ground.

Julian lifts Elixir and Megan teleports them all miles at a time until they see the exit for the town and she can teleport them next to a diner.

They end up eating breakfast at iHop, Laura, Megan, Julian, and Elixir's unconscious body all squished into one of the booths.

Elixir stirs into consciousness and looks around groggily when they're almost done with the pancakes and Laura, sitting across from him, flashes a grin that seems to threaten him into not questioning their presence.

"Anymore pancakes?" Elixir wonders, "Keller always steals mine,"


	4. Chapter 4

Going back to the apartment is strange.

Julian unlocks the door telekinetically and realizes they're going to have to find a way to explain to the landlord that they lost the keys without getting yelled at or fined horribly.

They stand in the doorway awkwardly, looking into the room, which looks exactly as it did when they left four days ago.

_Four days ago_.

Christ, Julian thinks, he's probably lost at least one of his jobs from unexcused absences. He wonders if groveling will help him get them back.

"Do you need help," Julian asks flatly.

He can feel Elixir's sideways glare. "You didn't ask that when we were going up the stairs,"

"It's only six floors," Julian says, and then he can pretty much hear Elixir rolling his eyes as he brushes past, into the room.

They're still wearing the same clothes from four days ago, which is just gross, and Julian shouts, "I call the shower," at the same moment Elixir moves toward the bathroom, shrugging off his leather jacket with a disgusted expression that suggests he's never wearing it again. It's probably a good idea; it's got blood on it.

"You can't call the shower," Elixir protests,

"Tough, I just did," Julian says,

"I was the one who was tortured, here," Elixir says,

"You're the one with the healing powers," Julian counters, refusing to back down just because the casual delivery of the truth fucking _stings_, "And I'm the one who looks like I fell asleep with half of my face in brown and yellow watercolors," He begins to shoulder past Elixir, only to get grabbed and have his face cupped between two golden hands. He's about to protest, because it _hurts_, thank you very much, but just as the ache begins, he feels his cheeks and jaw grow warm and then the soreness is gone.

"Huh, that's weird," Elixir says brightly, "Looks like you washed the water colors off. I'll take that shower now. Or maybe I'll take a nice, long bath where I'll use all the towels afterward. Who knows?" He says, and breezes by Julian, who's still gaping like a fish, face warm (but not because he's being healed, not because of that).

The bathroom door closes with what Julian's sure Elixir must think is a very satisfying _click_ and a moment later, there's the sound of water running, filling the bathtub.

Julian sighs and goes to the refrigerator to find something to eat, summoning his extra pair of gauntlets to his side. He locks his telekinesis into the gloves' finger joints and it's a relief to have something resembling hands again.

He's got a bite of sandwich half-chewed in his mouth when there's a clatter of something falling in the bathroom.

He pauses, swallows and calls out, "You okay?"

There's no answer and Julian lets it go until there's a crash that almost makes Julian choke on the last bit of his sandwich. "Foley," he says in a strangled voice, "What the hell are you doing in there?"

"I'm fine!" Elixir yells thickly, "It's fine,"

Julian goes over to the closed door of the bathroom, "What happened?"

There's no answer.

"Do I have to come in?" Julian says, frowning. "Josh?"

"No," Elixir shouts from the other side of the door, "It's fine, goddammit, just go away, okay? I'm fine –fuck,"

Julian gives it three seconds and opens the door to Elixir's shouts of protests. He's half-expecting to catch Elixir in the act of doing something embarrassing, but he's just sitting in the tub, gold skin reflecting against the water and hair wet and plastered to his head.

The shower curtain is half-torn down and there are several bottles of shampoo (because they each refused to use each other's) scattered across the tiled floor, all sources of the noise from before.

Elixir stares at Julian from the tub, and not for the first time, Julian finds himself wishing that Elixir's eyes weren't so blank because his expression is empty, and Julian doesn't know what to do.

"I said I'm fine," Elixir says gruffly, but then he sniffs like he's trying to hide it and he slides down in the tub like he's trying to disappear into the water.

"Were you crying?" Julian blurts, bewildered. He knows he shouldn't have, because he'd probably punch anyone who asked him the same question.

Elixir laughs, bitter. "No," he says, "I still am. An erection is _not_ the body's ultimate betrayal," he uses the back of his hands to wipe his cheeks.

Julian notices then that there are bruises across Elixir's chest, "You didn't heal?" he frowns, drawing closer without thinking about it.

"No," Elixir says, "I need a reason to tell my boss I'm quitting,"

"Or you could just quit," Julian says. Then he thinks about it, "…You have a boss?"

Elixir draws his legs up to his chest, covering the bruises and wraps his arms around his legs. "I'm not a prostitute," he mumbles.

Julian rambles. "Of course not, why would I believe that guy?"

"…not all the time,"

"Not that I would judge you if you were," Julian adds.

"I work –worked at a mutant bar," Elixir explains, his chin on his knees. He looks small, sitting hunched over like that. He's shorter than Julian normally, of course, but he's always had a presence about him that's never let Julian think of him as –as _vulnerable_.

"It's a strip bar," Elixir adds. He's lucking up at Julian through white eyelashes like he's expecting some sort of reaction that he's not getting.

"Okay," Julian says slowly. "So it pays well, and you want to quit?"

Elixir shrinks back, "The pay is good. You're right. I shouldn't quit," he says flatly, sniffling.

"Hold on," Julian says, "If you want to quit, you can, I just. I guess I just want to know why,"

"I don't need to quit," Elixir repeats, "It's fine; I'm fine," He shifts and for a second, Julian he can see his chest, where dark spots of bruises are fading.

He's glad to see it, but something tells him not to let it go just like that. He thinks that Laura might actually track him down and murder him if he doesn't act like a mother hen everyone once in a while.

"Foley," Julian says, sighing, "Just fucking tell me why you want to quit. Is it because of what that guy said?"

"What guy," Elixir says. His face twists and with horror, Julian understands what's happening.

Elixir covers his face with his hands, "This is stupid," he moans through an involuntary sob. "Get out."

"Elix"

"-I said _get out_!" he roars, hands coming away from his face and splashing into the tub.

Julian leans away from the water that splatters toward him but doesn't flinch away. He's thrown enough tantrums at various people to understand that he's meant to be leaving right now, probably in a bad mood.

"Josh," Julian says, because this is Josh, more than it's ever been, and Julian's always thought of him as Elixir (and he's not sure when it started), the Omega healer –a gold-skinned god.

He's just human.

Josh curls in on himself. "I'm tired, Keller," he says, looking away, "Just go away." There are tears rolling down his cheeks and Julian finds himself reaching out and wiping away one stuck halfway down his face.

"Look," Julian says, clearing his throat and pulling his hand away quickly when he's realized what he's done, "Quit the damn job. Stay at home all day if you want or sit on a corner asking for change. Okay? We'll figure it out." He doesn't let his mind linger on the way he called the apartment home –for both of them.

Josh's eyes are impossibly wide and there are tears stuck to his eyelashes. Julian's close enough to discern the gray outline of his irises. "Don't be like this," he says finally, "God, I don't –I don't want your _pity_,"

"Seriously," Julian says, "Like I'd pity _you_. There's nothing pathetic about you, never has been. So finish your bath, yeah? And then make yourself something to eat and sleep for a week or something. You can even take the bed. We should get a pull-out couch or something, huh?"

Josh is still watching him, bemused and Julian's already put all these _things_ out there, and he can't take back any of his words. He doesn't think he would want to, not out of regret, anyway, but he's always maintained that it's best to keep some truths inside.

"Would you like me to wash your hair and give you a manicure, as well?" Julian tries for sarcasm, which earns a spark of something familiar and –Christ, _normal_— in Josh's expression and a shove that sends him tipping over from where he's squatted.

He smirks and gets to his feet, convinced he's smoothed things over for now.

"Get me something to wear," Josh says when Julian's at the door. His voice is nearly back to normal, too; "And make it loose." He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like an eternal damnation on leather pants.

"Sure," Julian says, carefully nonchalant.

He enters his bedroom and the air seems stale, even though it's only been four days. He looks around, sees that everything is still cluttered and in the same place he left it, and makes his way to the drawer where he keeps all of his clothes. He finds the biggest t-shirt he has and a pair of checkered pajama pants that he doesn't remember getting.

He leaves it all in the bathroom, where the shower curtain has been replaced and the bottles of shampoos picked up. The shower is running and Julian puts down the toilet seat and puts the clothes on the lid.

He stares at the drawn shower curtain for a moment, remembering Josh's expression when he yelled at him to get out and when he –God, when he cried. Josh Foley wasn't supposed to cry. It wasn't right.

Julian contemplates this until Josh draws back the curtain and stares at Julian. He doesn't look surprised, like maybe he could tell Julian was standing there, but he raises his eyebrows. "Would you like to help me get dressed?" he says sardonically. "Or are you just admiring the view?"

Julian scowls because he _wasn't looking_, dammit, but the remark makes him glance downward and –nope. Nope, nope, nope, _no thanks_. Julian turns, maybe a little too quickly, and marches out the door.

Josh is laughing behind him, but there's a hollow edge to it that reminds Julian that things are not back to normal, that what has occurred decrees that all can never return to normal.

It reminds him of how it felt with the X-Men where, mission after mission, everyone strained to pretend what they'd seen and what they'd done in their lives wasn't damning, like if they didn't think about it or didn't talk about it, it couldn't hurt them.

Julian hates it.

* * *

He loses his job at Starbucks and at the bowling alley, which leaves Julian his job as a waiter and nothing else. If he doesn't manage to convince his manager to let him take on more shifts and he doesn't get another job soon, it means he and Josh are going to be finding themselves trying to live on little over one hundred bucks a week. Five hundred bucks a month isn't even enough for rent, and Julian could cover it if he adds in the extra money he's got stuffed under his mattress, but that just leaves the next month for them to get behind on the rent. He wonders how much money Josh might have saved up.

The smile he gives the woman at the bank is thin, and she gives him a pursed-lip look that says the loan is most certainly not going to happen, given the fact that Julian and Josh have little way of returning the money.

Her arched eyebrows say _trust me, a loan isn't worth the trouble for you_ and Julian never knew anyone other than Josh (and perhaps, Mr. Beaubier, Julian suddenly recalls) could have such expressive eyebrows.

He goes to the diner right after the bank and can feel Cook-Boss glaring at his back through the kitchen window as the minutes tick by.

Julian is tired and he just wants to sleep; he doesn't want to be back to work –he just got back that morning, Christ's sake –but he needs this job and so he can't miss it.

Big Eye Pete comes in with two men flanking him halfway through Julian's shift of mindless coffee refills and order-taking.

"Welcome to Jemmie's Diner," Julian says flatly when he reaches the table, "My name is Julian and I'll be waiting on you today," he puts a menu in front of each of the men, "Can I start you out with something to drink? Coffee?"

Big Eye Pete looks him over, "Saw the news," he said, "Three men suspected of bein' behind the killing of thirty-five mutants all around California were found dead. You look fine, Hellion."

"My roommate is an Omega-level healer," Julian says, "I can give you time to think over what you'd like to order,"

"My sources say the police found a pretty intruigin' scene," Pete continues, "One dead by strangulation, 'nother from a broken neck –head twisted near right around –and then the last one with a shot to the head, eyes pulled clean out, no fingers used."

Julian offers a tight smile, "Sounds painful,"

Pete regards him with an unreadable expression. "You never killed a man when you were with them X-Men,"

"Is that a question?"

"No,"

"Then it's a true statement," Julian admits, "But that doesn't mean I didn't know how to."

Big Eye Pete nods and orders a coffee, black, and when he departs, he leaves a tip that's more than triple the cost of his drink.

When Julian gets home, Josh is gone and so are all of his things. There's three hundred bucks on the kitchen counter (because they _still _don't have a table), and a note written on a napkin from some bar that says 'Rent money and dinner in the fridge' and nothing else.

Julian feels an odd sinking feeling in his chest and he just stands there for what feels like hours, staring blankly at the words written on the back of a billing envelope because he doesn't _understand_; he saw Josh just a couple of hours ago.

He'd been eating a sandwich at the counter, wearing an overlarge, gray 'MAGNETO WAS RIGHT' t-shirt and checkered pajama pants. When Julian left for the bank, he'd shrugged and when Julian told him to take a nap or something, he'd raised his eyebrows in a way expressed his surprise at the sentiment. Then he'd said calmly, "Sleep is for the weak. Besides, if I got to sleep now, I'll never wake up, and then who'll make dinner? You'll poison yourself and I'll have no one to mooch off of."

Julian had flipped him off as he'd made his way out the door, but he'd been unable to fight off the smile that crept onto his face when he heard Josh's cackles echo after him even after the apartment door was closed.

"Shit," Julian says now, and goes to use the landline he has never touched in the three months he's lived in San Francisco. He calls Laura and the call is picked up on the first ring. "He's gone," he says.

"You're an idiot," Laura says. "Go find him,"

"_Where_?"

"Wherever you think he might –oh." she stops midsentence. "It's alright, Julian," she says after a moment, "He's come back,"

Julian glances toward the apartment door before he realizes what she means. "Oh," he says, and it comes out in a whisper, "Okay,"

"Julian,"

-He hangs up and slides down to sit on the floor. He doesn't pick up the phone when it rings again a moment later.

* * *

Julian's got six hundred bucks and a duffel and backpack of all his worldly possessions when he leaves San Francisco, just after a body matching Sanders's description is found out in the wild of California, two hours out of San Francisco.

He goes back to his old town, drops by his old diner and manages to wheedle a free meal of leftovers from Carl, who's surprised to see him.

"You took off, man," Carl says, wiping down the counter of the mostly empty diner. It's late. "Was starting to wonder if you didn't get kidnapped by those psychos, too, because let's get real, man –alien tech? Sure."

Julian just shrugs because it's not completely a false assumption.

"Heard they were killed, though," Carl continues thoughtfully, "Wonder who did it,"

"Huh," Julian focuses on his meal, chewing thoroughly as he purposefully does not look up to meet Carl's eyes. "Well, at least no more mutants are getting murdered,"

"Yeah," Carl says, "You know, I did my research,"

"Oh yeah?"

"You're that Hellion guy, aren't you? The one who's got that green glowy-power thing and can move things without touching 'em?"

Julian sighs. "Yeah, Carl," he says, "I'm the one with the green glowy-power thing," he looks up finally, and is a little taken aback to see the green spreading across Carl's face.

"Aw man," Carl says, "_Dude_. That's freakin' cool, man. Can I have your autograph or something?"

Julian squints up at him, "_Why_?" he says.

Carl waves a hand around, "You're an X-Man, dude, a superhero or whatever. Dude, you know Wolverine, don't you?"

"Yes?" Julian frowns.

"And Emma Frost? Dude, she's _hot_. See, I _knew_ you looked familiar when you got the job here," Carl says smugly, "I was working with an X-Man. So what was it, like, undercover shit?"

Julian continues to squint at Carl because he is too tired to deal with this, thank you very much. "No, Carl," he says tiredly, "I'm not an X-Man anymore,"

He blinks, "What happened?"

"Uh, I quit?"

"_Why_?" Carl says, dumbfounded, "But you were, like, a superhero,"

"Not really," Julian mutters. "Look, I need a place to stay tonight. Can I crash in the storage room or something?"

Carl shrugs. "Just make sure you're gone before we open again,"

"Sure. Thanks, Carl," Julian pushes his empty plate away and slides off the stool. He can feel himself being watches as he takes his plate into the kitchen, where the staff just sort of glance at him and ignore his presence otherwise as he wanders around.

Julian considers reapplying for a job at the diner, but eventually decides to keep moving on. He flies, for the most part, and when he's tired, hitchhikes with bored truck drivers who're willing to bypass their company policies for someone to talk to or talk at or just to sit with in companionable silence.

Two week later, with three hundred bucks to his name and down a backpack, Julian arrives in Chicago and sits outside of a seedy bar at night with a bunch of other people, some his age and some older, some a little younger.

He shares a cigarette with a girl who can't be more than fifteen and listens as she rants about her parents who are too busy to pay her any attention.

"Mine were the same," Julian offers when she grows quiet, "We were rich, so I guess they figured letting me spend what I wanted would be enough to compensate. I wouldn't have wanted their attention, though. They were assholes,"

"Your parents are rich?" the girl says.

Julian forgets her name. July, was it? Or June? "Yeah," he says, "But I haven't talked to them in… four years, now, I guess."

"Did they kick you out for being a mutant? I heard some parents do that, like they do with gay kids, you know? Parents can be dicks,"

"They didn't kick me out," Julian says. _Not exactly_, he thinks. "They just kind of… sent me away. I was disinherited later."

"So were they there when… whatever happened to your hands… happened?" June-July says, waving her hand around in the air as she searches for the words.

"No. That was two years ago."

"What happened to them?"

"They fell off."

"Just like that?" June-July says, sounding amused.

"Incinerated."

"Sounds painful."

"It was." Julian says darkly.

"Does it make you made?"

"Not that much anymore," Julian admits.

"Do you ever miss them?"

It take Julian a moment to realize she's not talking about his hands. "There's nothing to miss," he says eventually.

"So what's your deal, then?" June-July wonders, "I mean, I get being poor and handicapped, but, are you hooked on something or whatever?"

"Christ, no," Julian snorts, "Josh would kill me if" –he stops and frowns. He hadn't meant to say that, and he doesn't know where it came from.

"So this Josh guy…" June-July says casually. She stubs out her cigarette and takes another out of her pack. "What's he to you?"

"Old roommate," Julian says, shrugging. "He was a… health nut, I guess."

June-July _hm_s and lights the cigarette, handing it over to Julian for the first draw.

He shakes his head and June-July checks her watch, "I'd better get home," she sighs. "I've got homework to do,"

Julian snorts again. "Have fun,"

"See you never," she says, hopping off the railing they've been sitting on and picking up her backpack off the ground. She leans in and pecks him on the cheek, shrugging and saying, "Might as well," when he startles.

"Stay out of trouble, June," he calls after her just as it begins to drizzle,

"It's April," she shouts back, "And only if you do,"

He feels himself grinning a little as he watches her retreat down the street.

A second girl takes April's place. She's older, bone-thin with dark eye make-up and straggly, bleach-blonde hair. "Wanna go fuck?" she wonders glumly.

Julian gives her a sideways look and after a moment she skulks away.

The back door of the bar opens and a stout man with a balding head but a lot of chest hair poking out of his suit top shoos everyone off the property.

"Hey, you," he calls, "You with the hands,"

Julian turns.

"You're good enough looking," the guy says, "You know how to pour?"

"I've been a waiter," Julian offers.

"You need a job?"

He nods.

"Come with me," the guy says, "Name's Ivan. I can get you a job here, no questions asked if you don't ask question neither."

Julian figures he must mean it because he isn't asked his name or even his age as he's led into the bar.

It's dimly lit inside and smells like smoke and alcohol. Music pulses through the room and Ivan takes Julian past the dance floor and behind the bar, "You're a mutant, right?"

Julian nods.

"Alright, they'll eat you up then. How's your body?"

"I thought I was waiting tables or something," Julian says.

"We have to get you a uniform," Ivan says, "So I'm askin', how's the body?"

"I've been told I'm a little on the skinny side lately," Julian admits, "I'll… work out or something, if I need to."

Ivan shrugs. "You're in luck, kid, you know that? Trent just quit this morning and we've got an open shift you can take and hey, if you want to make a little bit more money on the side"

"-I'll just do the tables," Julian interrupts, eyes narrowing, "But thanks for the offer."

Ivan doesn't look discouraged though, and he leers at Julian like he knows something Julian doesn't. "If you change your mind, just let me know." he says, "You can start tonight, yeah? Ask Ali about the pay,"

By then they've reached a back hall with a couple of doors that appear to belong to dressing rooms and the manager (Ivan?)'s office. Instead of going to any of these doors, Ivan continues on to a door that is labeled 'STAIRS' and pushes it open.

The stairwell is dark, but Ivan walks up the stairs like he knows where he's going, and they arrive at a surprisingly secure looking door on the second landing.

There's a camera in a corner above the door that Julian nearly misses, but then it emits a small, blue blinking light and the metal door to the second floor slides open to reveal a well-lit hall.

The second floor of the building is definitely high-end, and the first floor is clearly the grimy front of the whole establishment, because Ivan leads Julian into a well-furnished studio flat that is packed with well-dressed people, some of them noticeably mutant.

There are gold floor-to-ceiling poles through the room where young men and woman are –are doing _things_.

Julian thinks absently that Miss Frost would really enjoy a strip bar like this, even if she might have something to say about its gold and white color scheme, and he hastily follows Ivan behind the bar to another hall. This time they _do_ go into a dressing room and Ivan says, "Spare uniforms are in the dresser, find one that fits. Ali is the one at the bar right now, she'll tell you what to do."

"Just like that?" Julian wonders.

Ivan grins wickedly, "Welcome to Isis. Hellion, isn't it?"

Julian freezes. "It was," he says slowly. He narrows his eyes, "Consider me _retired_, though,"

"It's good publicity all the same," Ivan says, "For when…" he trails off, looking thoughtful, "Well, what are you waitin' for? You're starting tonight, aren't you?"

Julian shrugs. "Yeah," he says, "I guess I am." He's got other problems, of course; he doesn't have a place to sleep yet and he doesn't have any plans for the future. He doesn't even know if he'd been planning on staying in the city, but he's got a job now, and it looks like he might be, after all.

When Ivan leaves the room, Julian shrugs out of his jacket and drops his duffel on the floor.

He doesn't even blink when he finds that the 'uniform' is basically just a pair of tight pants and a waistcoat, but when he puts it all on and stares at himself in the full length mirror in the room, he thinks that Josh was right; he's lost too much weight. Muscle mass has disappeared and he's –he's slender now, more like he was when he was sixteen, but it's not an entirely healthy look. He's got bags under his eyes and his cheekbones are just beginning to stick out to give him that hollow, emaciated look. His hair has grown out and sticks out at strange angles and for the life of him, Julian doesn't understand why Ivan picked him up off the street, other than for the fact he recognized him as a former X-Man.

It's ridiculous. He wasn't even an X-Man for that long –just two years. He's going to be twenty soon (really soon, he realizes, and he wonders if there's anyone who remembers and then he recognizes that it doesn't matter; he's alone) and he feels sofucking_ old_ and it's not fair because he's barely an adult and where the hell did his innocence run off to without his permission? He's sure he wasn't always such a killjoy, but now his mind's constant stream of cynicism is just tiring and sad.

Julian sighs and runs a gauntlet through his hair, then tries to force a smile onto his face. It looks more like a grimace, and he turns away. "Right, Keller," he says to himself, feeling like an idiot for talking aloud to an empty room, "Pull yourself the fuck together. You've got a life to struggle through." He laughs, then, and the bitterness he hears in his own voice is, unfortunately, a familiar sound.


	5. Chapter 5

Going back to Graymalkin isn't like going home –of course not. It's not home. When Josh thought of home, for a long time, he only thought of Xavier Institute, now nonexistent.

Josh walks in through the doorway of the HQ in San Francisco and he thinks of home, but he doesn't think of Xavier's anymore. He doesn't think of any place at all, but he thinks if he did, he might imagine a small apartment with no kitchen table and a mini fridge in the place of an actual refrigerator.

Laura is the only person in the Rec Room, and she's on a cellphone. When she sees him, she stops in the middle of whatever of she's saying and says, "Oh. It's alright, Julian," she says, "He's come back,"

Julian.

Josh stands in the doorway and drops his bag of things on the ground.

"Julian," Laura begins, but then she sighs and puts the cell phone down. He's hung up on her. She gets off the couch and walks over to Josh. "I didn't expect to see you back here, Josh," she says.

He shrugs, but he can feel that –that _hysteria_ from before in the bathtub, and it's bubbling up in his chest again. "I," he clears his throat and starts over, "I didn't know what to do. I couldn't stay there and be a burden and I don't want to go back. To my old job. I can't do it."

Laura sighs, but she doesn't give him a pitying look or anything. She just _looks_ at him with an unreadable expression and after a moment, she puts a hand on his shoulder. The touch is awkward from her but she says in a serious voice, "It's going to be alright, Josh," Her green eyes rake over his face, "How do you feel?"

"Like shit," Josh says in a whisper, "And I don't even know why,"

Laura hugs him, slowly, like she's giving him a chance to pull away, and Josh thinks he must seem like a mess to her, but Laura is not anything if not selective about whom she hugs.

He rests his chin on her shoulder and hugs her back tightly, "I feel like there's something wrong," he murmurs, "With me,"

"That's why you left," Laura says calmly.

He closes his eyes because it's back, that empty feeling in the pit of his stomach that makes him feel light-headed. He instinctively checks over his biological statuses; physically, he's perfectly healthy, as per usual. He's tried checking brain chemistry, but there's nothing off where he's checked but what about the parts he doesn't check? What about the parts he doesn't want to check? What if—

Laura pulls away but keeps her hands on his shoulders. "Your heart rate has increased," she says, "Breathe deeply, Josh. You are experiencing a mild anxiety attack,"

"I know," Josh says, squeezing his eyes shut. There's only darkness and that makes it better. He can breathe. "I don't know when it started," he says, "And I don't know how to _fix _it."

"You don't have to explain," she says.

He snorts and opens his eyes. "Knew there was a reason I liked you," he says.

"Welcome back," She doesn't say _welcome home_.

Josh avoids Graymalkin as much as possible, and he spends most of his time at the hospitals, helping at the E.R. The doctors love him for using his powers, but the administration hates it because it means paperwork or some shit.

Still, it's possible that he _might_ be swinging by Recovery to help a couple of patients out.

At Graymalkin, the others have silently welcomed him back, but they can see that he doesn't want company.

Cessily shows up on Sunday and when he opens his room door and sees her, she throws her arms around him. "Oh my God, Josh," she says, "I missed you,"

He pats her awkwardly and she pulls away and looks him over. She frowns, "You're scaring people again, do you know that? You're… pulling away again, like after Limbo. What's going on, Josh?"

He shrugs because he doesn't _know_, and he wants to scream it.

Cessily sighs and Josh is struck with the fact that she's gorgeous. She's still touching him and he can feel the way her skin moves, the ways her molecules are always shifting. It's fascinating and Josh has always, with some vague amusement, been fond of Cessily because she's like him, in a way. He remembers when his skin first turned gold and he'd been beside himself and Cessily had found him.

He didn't want her company –why would he? She'd shunned him like all the others when she learned about his past with the Reavers. But she'd taken his hand and held them up in front of him –her silver skin next to his gold.

"It's not so bad, you know," she said. She smiled, "I don't even get acne anymore,"

It made him smile.

"I texted Alani," Cessily says, breaking their silence. "She's still at Avengers Academy. It's really close to Jean Grey's,"

He sighs. "What did she say?"

"She wishes you were happy?" Cessily says, "And she knows you're not, but she said if you're preventing yourself from being happy, then that's bullshit and you should stop,"

Josh feels himself smile, feels the muscles moving in his face. "Did she actually say that?"

Cessily shrugs and steps away, "She might have been a little bit more cute about it," she admits. She hesitates for a moment before saying, "You should come live at the school, Josh,"

He stares at her. He just stares at her for a long time and he has no questions and no answers because he's never thought about it. He never even considered it as an option. He forces out a laugh, "I can't go back to high school," he says, "I'm twenty years old,"

"You don't have to come to class," she says, earnest. "Just come to get a grip on yourself. C'mon, it's like Xavier's almost. You'd like it. We rebuilt the Memorial Garden, you should see it –there are flowers everywhere and"

"-No," he says. The words are starting to hurt. He almost closes the door in her face.

"It'll be good for you," Cessily insists. "Julian went because he was starting to lose himself in all the chaos and his powers evolving and"

"-Please don't," Josh hears himself say. "Don't try that on me, okay? Cessily, I'm staying here,"

"Are you _okay_ here?" Cessily says, "I mean, I say this entirely as a concerned friend, but you seem seriously depressed, Josh,"

He blinks slowly, and he can feel his muscles move and the cells of his eyelids slide over his eyes. "Well, occasional emotional and mental instability seem to be part of the job description of the X-Men," he says flatly. For her sake, he softens his voice when he adds, "I'm fine, Cess,"

She doesn't look convinced, but she sighs, "Sure, Josh," she says, "Just know I'm here, if you wanna, like, talk or whatever. I'm in town for the weekend, I mean. You can always text,"

"Yeah," Josh says, "I've been texting, haven't I?"

She fixes him a look with her blank white eyes that are so much like his own. "The last message you sent was weeks ago, dude,"

He grimaces, "Sorry,"

* * *

At night, Josh dreams of a sea of dead bodies, friends he couldn't heal, and when he looks in the mirror, his skin is metallic black and he is dying.

* * *

They never talked about so many things, Josh finds himself thinking, later, when he's standing outside of Julian's empty apartment.

The never talked about the way they'd been friends, once, back when they were both new at Xavier's. They didn't mention the times Josh had healed Julian or how he couldn't heal Julian's hands when the time came. All those things were behind them when they lived in that god-awful, cramped apartment, and they seemed so far behind them that it made sense they never talked about it.

Josh stares at the sign on the apartment door that indicates it's up for rent again, and tries to remember what brought him here.

Right.

Laura killed Sanders.

He'd taken the news (it was an _excuse_, he now realizes) and had been out the door and on his way toward a familiar apartment building across the city before he even knew what he was doing.

He feels like an idiot now, and he shouldn't even have walked up the stairs, because he could feel from outside that Julian's biometric signature wasn't even in the building. He doesn't know what he thought he would do –sit inside and wait? He _does_ still have his key.

He goes to the apartment administration building which is really just a small shack disguised by roll-out carpeting and pamphlets as a building of importance and asks if Julian has left a forwarding address.

The man sitting at the counter give Josh a _look_ that clearly answers the question.

He stand outside of the office for a moment and he's suddenly, so inexplicably lost that he doesn't know what to do and he just stands there.

He's walking along the side streets at the edge of Mutant Town and he wonders if maybe he'd like to move back here to this place he knows.

"Hey," someone's hand comes out and Josh recognizes the _cells_.

He whirls around yanks his arm out of the john's grip. "I'm not working today," he bites out,

The john isn't deterred and he's got the advantage because fuck –they're in a side street and there's no one else. "I've missed you," he says, "I heard you quit your job at the bar and I haven't seen you around here lately,"

"Probably not," Josh snorts, and starts to walk away, but his arm is caught again.

"I'll pay more, if that's what this is about,"

Josh turns again, jaw clenched. "Listen," he says, "You were a regular customer and I appreciate that, really, I do. But I don't do that anymore, okay? And dude, I'm not your fucking boyfriend. I was a prostitute? There's this thing called acting?"

He can see the john's expression crumbling with every word, and he feels only a little bad about it, because the john isn't the best looking guy (awkwardly lanky and geeky looking and balding prematurely), but he doesn't seem like a bad guy. "Look," he says with a sigh, "Find a boyfriend or girlfriend or go home to your wife and two-point-five kids. I don't care. We're done, okay?"

"I'll pay you double for the usual," the john says.

Josh feels anger rise up in his chest. This guy just isn't getting it. "No," he says, "I'm done with this stuff, okay,"

"How can you be _done_? Look, I'll pay you _triple_," the john insists, "You can't resist that kind of money, can you? That's three hundred bucks for a street walker like you"

-Josh grabs the john by the lapels of his jacket and slams him into a wall, "What part of 'no' are you not getting?" he hisses, "I'm fucking done"

"-one thousand," the john gasps,

Josh stops out of pure surprise. "You'd pay me a thousand bucks for an orgasm?"

The john looks hopeful. "Yes?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice urges, "_Quit the damn job_,"

"Two thousand and a good hotel room, and I might reconsider," Josh says, raising an eyebrow when the john licks his lips, suddenly looking very excited.

"You got it," he says, "I –I'll text you the address or, uh,"

Josh doesn't even bother smiling sweetly because this guys is _desperate_ and he doesn't need to do _anything_. "No, I'll just come with you when you get the room," he says, "Gotta keep an eye on a guy like you," _I am not giving you my phone number_ is what he doesn't say, "Someone might pick you up when I'm not looking, and then I'll be heartbroken," He's almost choking in his own sarcasm but the john only blushes in smiles.

Josh takes the john's hand, because he feels sorry for this guy and he's never going to let the john find him again after this, so he might as well. "No offense, but you really need a life," he says, and then smiles sweetly and it's clear the john didn't hear a word.

* * *

Josh leaves San Francisco with one thousand dollars and a promise to Cessily to call her at least once a month.

He feels good, he thinks, riding a bus out of the city, and it surprises him. He checks brain chemistry, but his oxytocin production has already leveled out and he's not riding on endorphins.

He's producing slightly higher than normal levels of adrenalin, so he must be excited for something –the prospect of freedom away from the city, maybe.

It's kind of weird to be assessing his own emotions based on his cells, and Josh thinks if he mentioned any of this out loud over breakfast, Julian would probably give him that narrow-eyed _look_ that says he thinks Josh has officially lost it.

"Holy shit," Josh says, earning a dirty look from the old lady sitting in the seat next to him. He gives her an apologetic smile that seems to startle and then appease her.

"Sorry," Josh says, "I just realized I'm an idiot."

The lady pats him on the knee, "We all have those moments, son. Do you want to talk about it?"

Josh blinks and figures _why not_. "I was a coward," he says, "I had somewhere I could have been happy and I ran from it. Now it's gone,"

The lady shakes her head, "Oh, don't worry, you're still young," she says, "You'll find a new place eventually, it's in our nature to as humans."

Josh smiles for her sake, "If you say so," he says. He almost expects the light feeling in his chest to disappear, but it's still there and it's getting lighter. His mind has never felt more clear and he _knows_ what he has to do.

When the bus stops in Las Vegas, he calls the Cuckoos on a payphone.

"Josh, dear," says Irma or maybe Celeste. Phoebe never answers the Cuckoo's cellphone (yes, singular).

"Can you use Cerebro to find Keller for me?" he says without introduction.

There's a silence and then, "I'm not going to ask what sort of drama you two have got going on, and we're not within proximity of Cerebro right now." Celeste or Irma says. "We can try to look for him, though,"

"Thanks," Josh says, and doesn't ask about Cerebro. Come to think, he has no idea where the Cuckoos are. He'd thought they were at Jean Grey's, and he's sure that Logan would have Cerebro rebuilt just for them, but who knows?

A few moments later, Celeste or Irma says, "He's not dead, but something's blocking him from us and he's not very close,"

"Oh," Josh says. He frowns, because he hadn't planned for this possibility. He hadn't really planned at all. "Okay, then, I'll"

"—He's in some sort of bar," they says. "Or a restaurant. It smells like smoke and alcohol and expensive fragrances. It's dark... no, just dim. Honestly, Irma, make up your –alright. It's a high-end bar, Josh. Keller is in a bar he _totally_ cannot afford. Phoebe thinks he's working there. She says to take pictures when you find him."

The line goes dead before Josh can say anything else, which is just really unhelpful because there are probably several hundred thousand bars in the Midwest and many that are high-end and many more that are '_high-end'_. Josh isn't searching bar to bar for one asshole, even if it is Julian fucking Keller.

Josh finds himself sitting on a curb in Las Vegas that looks like the street in Mutant Town he used to wait at.

There's women and men alike wandering the street and walking up to dark cars pulling up to the sidewalk –no, not walking. They don't walk; these people _strut_.

Josh watches them at work, all dressed and done up to look completely worth a couple hundred bucks. It's different to watch them and not be competing with them. He sits a couple meters away from them all as night falls and the lights of the Strip come on in the distance and more people begin to come and go.

A long-legged thirty-something year-old moves over to Josh and squats down next to him. She's wearing fishnet tights and something that looks like a leather leotard. She has dark skin that looks smooth even in the fading light and her hair is curly and wild. She's beautiful in a strangely tragic way.

"Lookin' for somethin'?" she purrs, placing a hand on his thigh.

Josh snorts, "Do I look like I have money?" he says.

"I know you don't got money," she says, still smiling, teeth white in the dark, "But you got a handsome face. You wanna make some money? I know a guy who can give you client. Don't even gotta work to create your own network,"

"I don't need a pimp," Josh says.

"Well you ain't doin' so well for yourself just sittin' here," the woman said, hand sliding up Josh's thigh.

He grabbed her wrist to stop her. "I'm not a hooker anymore," he says.

At his words, her touch turns less predatory and more –more familial. "Where'd you come from? California?"

"San Francisco. How could you tell?" Josh says dryly.

"I'm Sugar," she says instead.

He feels himself smile. "Of course you are," he says. "I'm Josh,"

"Young ones always use their real names," Sugar laments, "You know that helps the creeps find you better, right?"

"I went by Elixir," Josh says pleasantly, "But I don't like fake names." He raises an eyebrow and adds, "Don't you have money to be making, Sugar? Don't pimps ask for you girls to fill quotas?"

Sugar laughs, "Bet the johns told you to shut up a lot, didn't they?"

"But there is money to be made, isn't there?" Josh says.

"Yes, _Josh_, there is." she begins to stand, grinning.

"Hey," He says, "Why do you do this?"

She pauses. "Why did you?"

Josh shrugs, "Money," he says.

"Money," she agrees. "My name's Kyra, by the way,"

He nods, then says, "You know, there's a pretty well-off guy over there who's been looking at you,"

She looks over and is smirking when she turns back to Josh, "White guy with the blond hair, mid-thirties? Nah. He's lookin' at you, Elixir," With a wink, she's off, charging toward a nervous looking man who's just approached. It's a first-timer for sure.

Josh stays sitting for a little while more, avoiding eye contact with the man with the blond hair to show that _he's not on the market, go away_.

When he hears footsteps approaching him, however, he knows who's coming and he stands in a huff to leave. He doesn't know why he thought sitting here would be a reasonable use of his time.

"Hey," the blond man says.

"Not interested," Josh says.

"Are you a mutant?"

Josh whirls around, going on edge, "Is that going to be a problem?"

"You look good," the man says. He's wearing a suit and Josh can tell it's expensive. So is the car that's not parked, but waiting for him on the street.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, dude," Josh says. The light feeling from the bus is gone, was gone the moment Kyra walked away. "But you can humor me if you want. I could use a laugh,"

"So you are selling?"

"I'm not a drug-dealer," Josh says. He gasps sarcastically, "Are you _new_ at this?"

The blond man scowls, "No,"

"Well then let's talk numbers. How much do you figure I'll charge for whatever you want, if you're a regular at this?" Josh says. He looks the man over again.

Blond hair, combed over neatly; dark suit, green eyes; the john isn't ugly and it's not like he doesn't look like he could get someone on his own –for free, Josh might add.

"One grand?" the john says.

"For an entire night?" Josh says in shock.

"Two thousand, then?"

Josh doesn't bother correcting the john's mistake in thinking that he needs to offer more. A part of him wonders how far he might be able to take this, and that part doesn't let him stop. "Two thousand," he repeats, "Really?"

"You can't want more than _that_,"

"Well, I'm thinking, looking at you, that there must be something seriously damaged about you, if you look like you do and have to pay to get laid," Josh says, making a face.

The john grumbles, "I thought you lot weren't supposed to be picky,"

"I'm special," Josh says with mock cheer. "Now we were talking two grand, am I right?"

"Do you not like that number?" the john says with a small smile. He takes this point in their conversation to take a step forward, entering Josh's personal space. He's taller than Josh, but then again, Josh isn't exactly freakishly tall. He's got a slender body and isn't too tall and that's what draws the johns in. That, and the 'exotic mutant look' he has going.

"Those zeroes aren't really doing it for me, sweetheart," Josh says, "What if you snore?"

"You assume I'm hiring for the entire night," the john says, amused.

"No ring, no tan line," Josh says, taking the john's left hand and holding it up in front of them, "You look like a guy of comfort, so I'm thinking a hotel room, and you'll still want to make it worth it, right?" A small voice reminds him that he doesn't have to do this. _Quit the damn job_. For a moment, he feels phantom hands pulling him to his feet and the hot wetness of someone breathing into his ear—

"Well, well, detective," the john says, "How does two and a half grand sound? Take it or leave it."

Josh smiles, looking up through his eyelashes at the john. "Sounds like you're going to have some fun tonight," he says, sidling up to the john until their chests are nearly touching. "Let me lay down some ground rules and then we'll talk about what you want, but first: what would you like me to call you? Sir?"

"Darren," the john says, "Darren's fine. What about you?"

"Josh,"

"Is that your real name?"

"Would you prefer a different name?" Josh says, raising an eyebrow.

Darren shakes his head. "Josh is fine," he says. He looks around, "Uh, I have a car waiting –should I pay upfront, or-?"

"Aw," Josh coos, "You _are _new_,_" he takes Darren's arm in his, "Look, I take half upfront –like a security deposit. Let's talk rules, okay? First of all, 'stop' means 'fuck off' and 'no' means 'fuck off'…" He glances over his shoulder and sees Kyra walking away with the nervous first-timer. He's glad she can't see him leaving.

* * *

Josh leaves Las Vegas with twenty-five hundred dollars more than before and a promise to himself that he _won't_ do it again. He doesn't have to, doesn't need to, doesn't really _want_ to, but it just happens, and he lets it happen, and nobody's getting hurt, so it's okay.

He tells himself this when he arrives in Minneapolis and he tells this to himself all the way up until he approaches a woman sitting by herself at a bar in a nice hotel. She's middle-aged and her eyes light up when he smiles at her.

Cessily calls.

"I forgot, I swear," Josh says. He's sitting in a motel in Atlanta and the walls are red.

"It's been five weeks, Josh," she says flatly, "And you _promised_, dude. Laura said you haven't even been in San Francisco. Where _are_ you?"

"Uh, Georgia? What?" He adds when he hears Cessily's squawk of outrage. "Look, I'll go up to Westchester and visit, okay?"

"You've hitch-hiked your way across the country, Josh? How are you getting _food_? A place to sleep? Ugh, I don't want to know. You're probably charming the pants off everyone you meet and getting food for healing dying kittens and feverish children,"

Josh doesn't bother correcting her. "How are you, Cessily?" he says quietly, which does the trick and stops her mid-sentence as she begins to ramble about whether he should be finding somewhere to settle down at.

"I'm… good, I guess. We've got midterms coming up, you know? Studying really sucks,"

"I forget. How much does it suck?"

"Haha, you drop-out, at least I'm going to get my GED," Cessily says, and Josh can pretty much hear her sticking her tongue out at him. "Ugh –look, I have to go –some baddie's trying to attack Krakoa again. Call me soon, okay? Or I'll send X after you, and you know she'll make you,"

"Sure, Cess," Josh says, "Go save the school again,"

"You got it," she says, and the call ends.

Josh stares at the motel wall for a little while longer and then picks up the backpack he's been taking everywhere and walks out the door to the closes bus station.

* * *

He hasn't been to Jean Grey's yet, but it's built on the grounds of Xavier's, and it looks so like the old building (_buildings_, if one considered the number of rebuilds) that when Josh first stops in front of the gates, he feels sixteen again, showing up at the school for the first time and seeing it in person, as opposed to in a picture on a pamphlet.

There's no 'X' on the gate, though, and the sign outside names the school in Jean Grey's honor.

Josh stares, dumbfounded, at the gates for several minutes, until he notices someone approaching from the other side.

"Josh," Miss Pryde says with a smile, "We weren't expecting you,"

He swallows, hard, and wonders if it's not too late to turn and run. "Hey," he mumbles, "Just thought I'd come and visit,"

She looks him over with a sympathetic expression. "The road's not treating you too hard, is it?"

Josh shakes his head and allows himself to be ushered in through the gates and led up to the school.

"Your friends will be glad to see you," Miss Pryde says, "and we've got a lot of new students you can meet, too"

"-I'm not staying," Josh says quickly. It's important to say it now, he thinks, or you might get sucked in and then he'll never leave. He wonders if that would be so bad.

Miss Pryde looks disappointed for a moment, but then the expression is gone, "No one says you have to," she says lightly. "But you can certainly stay for a couple of days. We'll find an open room or something for you."

They reach the front doors and Miss Pryde stops them.

"Alright, look," she says, "I heard about what happened in California five months ago. You and Julian took down extreme members of the F.O.H and that's –good for you, you know, but are you"

"-I've already been asked," Josh says, "And I'm fine." he smiles reassuringly and it doesn't even surprise him how easily he can summon a new expression to his face that people want to see because he's been doing it for what feels like so long. "It was in and out, honestly. We barely even got a scratch on us,"

Miss Pryde nods, "That's good," she says, and then she opens the doors.

The school is just as chaotic as Xavier's once was and Josh can tell that it's in between morning classes by the way everyone's running around or lingering in groups to talk. Little blue creatures are _bamf_ing through the air and causing general mischief and there's the front staircase right across the front hall …the inside looks like Xavier's, too.

"It looks like… before," Josh manages to say. He turns to Miss Pryde, who's grinning.

"Well," she shrugs, "The old construction company that used to do our rebuilding still had a blue print of the school because of all the times we had to hire them, and Logan didn't want to have to design a new building, so, home sweet home," she waves a hand around in the air, gesturing to the mansion around them.

"It's…" he doesn't know what else to say.

"It's a bit hectic," Miss Pryde says ruefully, "Midterms begin tomorrow,"

She lets Josh wander when he says he's going to find Cessily, but truthfully, he wastes time walking around the school by himself.

The Rec Room is painfully familiar, a circle of couches and sofas in front of a large flatscreen and foosball tables behind them. There's a couple of tables crammed into the room where students are gathered with piles of books as they rush to consume last minute knowledge for their upcoming exams.

There's one guy sitting on the couch watching some awful reality show at high volume, and Josh sits down next to him.

Quentin Quire doesn't even look surprised to see him, because of course he's seen Josh coming from miles away.

He does, however, make a face. "You definitely used to be less interesting," he says.

"Thanks,"

"That wasn't a compliment. God, what's _wrong_ with you?"

Josh raises his eyebrows but then supposes he has to be grateful that Quentin is such a complete, insensitive asshole because Josh is a little done with tact. "I'm depressed," he says matter-of-factly and holy shit, _there it is_. It's not as hard to admit as he thought it would be and once it's out there, Josh could scream with relief.

Quentin shifts a little to sit at an angle where he can easily glance over at Josh. "No shit," he says. "How come?"

Josh shrugs. "Dunno. It just happened, I guess. It's been coming and going for a while."

"What's a while?"

"A couple of years, maybe."

Quentin _hmphs_ and purses his lips. "You know, I woke up, finally got out of McCoy's stupid tank, and there's less mutants and like, way less fun people," he complains, "Everyone walks around like they're waiting for something in them to snap. Like, what the hell?"

Josh shrugs. He never really talked to Quentin back at Xavier's; he was always a little weird. Still is, Josh supposes, but then, he's not one to talk. "Hey," he says, "Which way is the Memorial Garden?"

Quentin gives him a long sideways looks and then says, "Beyond the courtyard out back. Can't miss it. It's the place with the huge-ass statues covered in snow,"

They've replaced every single grave and statue from the old garden, and added a few more.

Josh wishes he could see the garden in the spring, because he's sure Cessily was right when she said it was beautiful.

He passes by the names of the students killed in the bus bombing from –Christ, from four years ago –and he lingers at each statue. He looks at the new names added: Nathan Summers, and a slew of mutants killed on Utopia.

There's a statue of Kurt Wagner standing tall and proud and wearing a mischevious grin that has something like a small shrine going on in front of it. Josh isn't sure that all of the items are from Logan (he can't really see the man leaving the stuffed animals), but the cans of beers are definitely from him. They're not yet covered in snow, so they must have just been left, too.

Josh moves on and stops in his tracks when he comes to the gravestone of Kevin Ford.

He stares at it for a long time and there's no epitaph, just a name and the years of birth and death, and he feels sick.

He looks down at his hands –gold, he tells himself, they're gold, not black –and takes a deep breath before continuing on. There's some more names, not all of whom died at Xavier's, not all of whom were even affiliated with the X-Men, but were mutants that they knew of.

There's St. John Allerdyce, Dominic Petros, Jeremiah Muldoon, John Proudstar, Caliban, Nicolas Gleason, Esme and Sophie Cuckoo and Jay Guthrie and … and Laurie Collins.

Josh feels his heart drop into his stomach when he sees her tombstone and one hand automatically reaches out to touch it.

The stone is cold to his touch and he just stares at Laurie's name engraved against the black and he doesn't feel a thing. "Sorry, Laurie," he murmurs, because they were young and he was so fucking stupid, and they never really figured themselves out before she died, and she deserved so much _better_.

"There's too many names out here, huh?"

He whirls around to see Cessily, standing behind him, hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat.

"You could say that again," he says, and takes a couple of strides to close the distance between them and hug her tight. "Christ, it's good to see you," he says when he pulls away.

She grins, "You, too. What's it been, a couple of months?"

"Yeah. Hey, are the Cuckoos here? I need to talk to… Christ," he says, seeing her expression fall, "Did they die?"

She laughs at that and says, "No, no, I don't think so. Look, they went with Scott after he broke out of prison and started the New Charles Xavier School, but no one's heard from them in a couple of weeks. The entire school just vanished."

Josh opens his mouth to say something –he doesn't know what, just _something_, and she adds, "Logan thinks they got stuck in limbo. He and a team are going off after them as soon as he can talk Doctor Strange into helping."

"Will you go?" Josh asks.

"Someone's gotta do the crime fighting," Cessily says, joking weakly. "C'mon, let's go inside, it's warmer." she takes his arm and leads him back toward the school, "What d'you need the Cuckoos for, anyway? Already tired of my fabulous company?"

Josh snorts. "If only," he says, then sobers. "I asked them a couple of weeks ago to help me find… Julian. They said he was in bar, but there's kind of a lot of those across the country, so I thought maybe I could get a more specific…" he trails off again because Cessily is giving him another _look_ and Christ, when did she get so fucking _knowing_?

"Josh," she says with a dramatic sigh, "_Josh_. This is why you need to call me more."

"What do you know?" he says, eyes narrowing.

They make it back into the school and the halls are empty, which means classes have started again, and Cessily shrugs off her coat, but Josh doesn't take off his. He's still wearing his backpack, too.

"Julian checked in with Laura a couple of days ago because _he_ can actually consistently keep a promise,"

"The point, Cess," Josh pleads.

"He's in Chicago," Cessily sighs, "He's _been_ in Chicago, but that's all we know, okay?"

He feels his breath catch in his chest and this is _stupid_ because he thinks that he might drop everything and go to Chicago right now, but what if Julian doesn't want to _see_ him? What then? But why would Julian be angry about it? It shouldn't matter, should it?

"No," Cessily says sharply, "Don't you dare –I can _see_ the gears turning in your head, and you are staying here for _at least_ one night. Got that, Foley?"

"Yes ma'am," Josh says immediately. He smiles for her.

"So Quentin says you're depressed," Cessily mentions casually.

Josh swears, because _seriously_? He's going to murder that kid.

"Are you?" Cessily wonders.

They're still standing in the hallway by the door and Josh sighs, "Sometimes, yeah. I guess so, I mean. How can I tell, really?"

"D'you wanna see a therapist?" she asks. "There's a kid in my English class who went to see a doctor in town a couple of weeks ago. She takes citalopram now and"

"-I can't afford a therapist," Josh says flatly, "And I don't have health insurance,"

She looks at him and sighs, "No, of course not," she says, "Just… remember you're not all on your own, okay? You don't have to face the world by yourself."

Josh has had enough people feeling sorry for him to last him a lifetime. He smiles and goes with her to say hello to Santo and Victor and a bunch of kids he's never met before.

Most of them turn in early after dinner to go study for their finals, and Josh sits by himself in the Rec Room watching television.

Logan sits down next to him and holds out an opened beer, which Josh stares at a moment before taking. "It's a good thing you didn't stay headmaster," he says. "I bet you were awful,"

Logan grunts, noncommittal, "Long time no see, kid," he says.

"Yeah,"

Logan can probably smell his entire history, but if he does, he doesn't say anything and neither does Josh.

"You're not stayin', huh?" Logan says after a while.

"No,"

"You could finish high school,"

"I think you, of all people, can't really talk to me about high school," Josh snorts.

Logan sighs. "You kids grew up too fast," he grumbles, "S'not right,"

"It's how it is," Josh says, but he agrees. He sips at the beer and cringes a little. He hates alcohol –really hates it like he hates most unhealthy things because he can _feel_ the way it affects his cells. If he concentrates, he can sense the chemical breakdown of the foods and drinks he consumes, can tell where the energy is going and whether or not it's good for him.

Logan barks laughter at his expression and Josh puts the beer on the coffee table.

"Everyone's always asking me what my plans are," he says with frustration, "Whether or not I'm staying or going. Why can't I just come and go, no questions asked?"

"Kid, when you've got people who care about ya, it's best to give up trying to play the lone wolf," Logan says wisely, because of course he knows this all from experience.

Josh sighs. "I need to get to Chicago," he says.

"There's one of Summers' s old bikes in the garage," Logan says casually, "And I ain't saying the tank's full or that the keys are in the compartment under the seat, but ya could get lucky, I guess."

Josh feels himself smile –genuinely, for what feels like the first time in a while. He doesn't think about the way the muscles in his face are moving, he just lets it happen and they don't say anything after that, but that's okay, too.

He and Logan marathon a late night crime show and they doze off on the sofa amidst a couple of Bamfs (the little blue critters that look like Nightcrawler), who seem overly fond of Logan (Josh is convinced they think he's their mom or something) and curl up to sleep in his hair and on his shoulders.

In the morning, when some of the teachers are just waking up upstairs, Josh goes down to the garage and he's gone before the morning classes at Jean Grey's start.

* * *

A/N： Wow！ It's done。 Alright， so obviously there's more to the story, but this part of the series is over. Stand by for a sequel! :D

Thanks for reading, and don't forget to leave a review.


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